The Whitest Man in Skyrim
by Flux Casey
Summary: Sheogorath finds the Dragonborn boring. So he decides to find a more amusing alternative. Hardcore Skyrim self-insert.
1. Chapter 1

Minesweeper is the most boring game in the world. And yet somehow it still provided a respite from another shift at the charity shop; duller than dishwater. One bag of clothes donated – most of which too grotty to sell – and a single customer who bought a book. One book! In the past three hours of operation, this shop has earned a grand total of 30p! At this rate we won't last another year.

"Ha! This'll be perfect!"

Of course... There is that _other_ potential customer.

He had come in about two hours ago. Older guy. Dressed in an odd suit that looked familiar somehow. Like two-face decided to jazz up his wardrobe a little. It was an old-fashioned suit, a bit too bulky for modern tastes and the halves coloured differently. One side orange, the other purple. To complete his odd ensemble he carried a cane with an odd design at the head, but I couldn't make it out from where I was sitting. Other than that, he had an impressively well maintained beard, turned grey the same as the rest of his hair though it looked like it was a tad premature, his face not showing the same age. He spoke with an odd, not-quite-scottish accent. The kind you get from living elsewhere for long enough. I should know. Living on the internet for most of my life basically gave me a similar hybrid accent, though English/American rather than Scottish/English.

No, I don't think that's sad. Shut up.

Anyway, while the suit was strange, his actions were stranger. Most people who come into the shop look around for five minutes, see we mostly just have crap no one wants, then leave. Some buy a couple articles of clothing. This guy... Well I already said he'd been here two hours. He spent that two hours examining every item individually, then put it back in not quite the right place. An ornament on the second shelf would be put on the third, one from the third on the first and so on. Sometimes he'd pick something up, look at it for a few seconds, then take it to the opposite side of the room and leave it there.

At first I tried to clean up after him. Then I realised he wasn't going to stop any time soon. It would be easier and more efficient to wait for him to leave so I could get it all done at once. If that meant my shift would end before then well, that was just bad timing for the second shift, wasn't it?

"I'd like to buy this fine set of carving knives, my good man!", he announced as he marched up to the counter. "It'll make a fantastic gift for Haskill to give to Thadon to give to me! Ahh, ever since I carved out his eyes he's always giving the _best_ gifts!"

… A lot of people would be unnerved by that comment. Really, in any other circumstance I probably would be too. But I've been working in this shop for 8 months and that is by _far_ not the strangest thing I've heard from a customer. Maybe if he starts shitting on the clothing racks but I doubt that'll have the same impact the third time.

You're contributing to society. You're contributing to society. You're contributing- "£2." I told him, looking at the price label.

He pulled a £5 note from under his... collar? And hands it to me. Just roll with it, I tell myself as I get his change.

"The money here is so much nicer than back home, you know.", he observed. "You put a pretty lady on it! Ours has an ugly old man. So dull! And yours is made of paper! So much more convenient, really. Then again, it's far easier to beat someone to death with a sack of coins..."

As he spoke that last sentence his voice took on a menacing edge. Okay, he's rapidly moving away from 'harmless crazy' to 'possibly an axe murderer'. Or... 'sack of coins' murderer'.

… I hate how my brain works sometimes.

Not important. I gave him his change and his smile turned from menacing back to... well, not peaceful. I don't want to use the word 'manic' but... "Thank you, good sir! If I see you again, maybe we can enjoy some friendly maiming together! It's a great workout for your triceps... until you lose them, that is! Ha, ha!"

And with that, he was out of the door.

…

Yup. I'm done. My shift officially finished five minutes ago, Kev can wait for the second shift. I've had enough dealing with crazy people for this week.

And no sooner had I thought that than- "You kno~~~~~w...", the potentially violent crazy person said, his head poking sideways around the door. "I had a thought a while back." he continued as he approached again. "I thought, 'Sheggy, old chum! Madness is so simple on the faces of it! To be mad, all you have to do is stop making sense!'" He stopped talking, opting instead to stare at me.

I stared back, afraid to move or look away.

"'Well, Sheg-Sheg', I thought back, 'that really is oversimplifying it, don't you think? There are so many types of sense to not make! Like tying together bits of string because one long piece of string is too straightforward! Or washing your clothes in sewage! Or ripping out a man's tongue because he _isn't using it enough_."

"I-I..." I tried, taking his threatening tone as a prompt but utterly failing to come up with anything to say.

"'Yes, but Sheggy', I retorted.", he said, ignoring my attempt at speech entirely. "'Those things might be plenty mad, but how do you _make_ mad?' 'Well, Sheg-Sheg, I think that's obvious. All you really need is something _unexpected_! Something that truly boggles the mind!' What do you think, sir? Aren't we a wise men?"

What the hell do you say in this situation.

Answer: You don't. You run.

_Run_.

"Now, I look at you, my friend. And I see a man in need of a good boggling! It's good for the soul! Nnnnnot so much for the body but _definitely_ for the soul. Sometimes. So as I am the masterful magnanimous man of madness made of malice and mania sod it alliteration is boring – say goodbye to Earth."

Only a strangled sound escaped my vocal cords before he shoved the head of his cane into my solar plexus.

-(-)-

"Now this is a nice spot, don't you think?", I heard the madman say as I tried to get my breath back. "So weird and wonderful, isn't it? I hear they travelled around in giant insect stomachs here! Delightful!"

I looked around, squinting slightly due to being suddenly and inexplicably outside. Thankfully it was overcast so it wasn't too big a problem. We were on a dock. Not just a dock, though. A dock with a prison ship moored to it. And I had my hands tied. And he was a madman in a split-coloured suit with a well-maintained beard and a pseudo-scottish accent.

Suddenly inexplicable became slightly more explicable. Slightly.

"... Sheogorath...", I managed to say, fairly sure after what I assume to be interdimensional time travel he _probably_ isn't doing this to kill me. Not immediately, anyway.

"He speaks! Not sure I'm too fond of that. I liked you better when you were quiet and terrified. I used to be quiet, you know! People say it's polite. Virtuous. Bah! Rubbish! Politeness, manners, virtue, all shackles to deny the mind true freedom! Polite people would never piss in someone's face and laugh at them! _And they're poorer for it!_"

"We're in Morrowind..." I muttered, recognising the scene from the game. Though it was far less detailed there.

"Yes! Isn't it grand! You stand in the shoes of the Nerevarevarevarine! Or not. Never quite figured that out. Well, have fun!" And with that, Sheogorath disappeared, and that was the last I saw of him.

… For the next three seconds. "On second thought, probably a bad idea. There's already a me here and while I'd love to have another two mes to understand me and other me like no other, paradoxes are not fun to mess with. MOVING ON!"

Another gut shot with the cane.

-(-)-

I drop to the stone floor, clutching my stomach and coughing.

"Now this seems more your speed! Lots of adventures to be had here! So many memories! With the giant dragon man, a fox, that exquisite dinner party and eventually you get to become the Deadric Prince of Mad- Oh. Wait... Shit!", he swore as he slammed his cane into my back, dropping me back to-

-(-)-

-a road. Outside again but still overcast. And once again my hands were bound. I was fairly certain of where we were and if I was right, I could be even more certain this would be where he leaves me.

"Doverkin! Doverkin! Nar sin dos far in!", Sheogorath sang. I'm fairly certain those aren't the words but I doubt he cares. "Ahh, DRAGONS! Is there anything better to drive people mad with fear?! I find undying eldritch abominations have that effect most times, you know."

"Why are you doing this?" I coughed as I got back to my feet.

"Haha, I already told you! _Chaos_! Chaos breeds madness like nothing else! And what could add more chaos to the return of dragons than turning the prophecised hero into a nobody with no combat skills from another reality entirely! Besides, the original guy was a Nord. I mean _really_. A Nord? In _Skyrim_? Where's your creativity, Akatosh?!" Sheogorath shouted at the sky. "You better step up in future or that nice dragon statue in Cyrodil is gonna turn into a fifty-foot lettuce! Your worshippers'll be eating your progeny for _weeks_!"

I know if he goes away I'll be led to a cart which will take me to my own execution (ish), but... I kind of want him to go away. I should hope that's understandable. "I'll still be the Dragonborn, right? I mean if I'm not, the world is kind of screwed. No more madness if everyone is dead, right?" I asked rhetorically, trying to appeal to crazy logic.

"Hm. Probably. For all intents and purposes, you're him and he's you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be going. Don't want to miss Nordy Nord the boring Nord going mad from the revelation, wrecking your shop and mutilating your coworkers! Ta ta!" And with no warning, the Daedric Prince of Madness vanished and that was the last I saw of him.

"Get moving, rebel scum!", an Imperial soldier barked at me with a forceful push. Obediently I walked towards the cart. Other Stormcloak (Rolaf?), Horse Thief following after and finally Ulfric himself taking his spot next to me.

I'm in Skyrim.

H... Holy shit.

It's a dream it's a dream it has to be a dream it's not a dream that soldier just shoved me and it _hurt_ and it's _so cold!_

Somehow, it all seemed to hit me at once. I was in Skyrim. And there was no possible way I could get myself home. All the significant and insignificant aspects of my old life appeared in my mind.

I'd just made a home for myself. Gone.

How would my family react?

Would the podcast crew have any idea I had vanished? Would they go on without me?

And after my mind had raised all of those questions, I realised it. I would never know the answers. Because I was here. And there was no way back.

It's funny. You see these scenarios all the time in fanfiction. 'What if I was dropped in this universe?' You can see instantly the ones that don't put much thought into the idea. They get dropped into their new world and immediately start doing things. Changing things to their liking, making their own place in their new reality, claiming that reality as their own personal fiefdom in some cases. Then there are the other ones. The ones that stop and think 'How would I react?'. And they realise in the beginning only one thing will matter. Self-preservation.

Survival instinct will take the reins and grip them tightly.

If I had been thinking entirely clearly there are a few things I might have done. I might've given Rolaf a piece of my mind for his 'we're all in this together' speech when the rebels were the only reason the horse thief and I were headed to the chopping block. I would've told Ulfric off about how his rebellion is only helping the Dominion, weakening both Skyrim and the Empire before the inevitable second war. If I could convince him (however implausible that might be), it would save a lot of lives in the future. But survival instinct was in the driver's seat. And future concerns were worth nothing compared to surviving today. Instead, every single synapse and every single cell of my brain was rooting through all of my memories of the setting, picking apart everything I know to put together a workable plan.

Cover story. Breton. I have the features and the accent to pass as one. I know some medieval cultures had a problem with people like me but I don't know the Nord (or Imperial) attitude towards albinism so I'll play that by ear.

… Magic is real. Could it be... _treatable_?

… Focus.

Wait. Magic is real. And it's the purview of the intellectuals in this world. I might not be remarkably intelligent but that's by modern standards. I doubt they even understand the concept of Newtonian physics here. Magic is definitely an avenue I could explore.

… Assuming it works for me. But Sheogorath said I was the Dragonborn now. Surely that's a type of magic. It's a real possibility. Future concern, though. Back to not getting eaten by a dragon.

Right. The dragon. Need to stall my execution as long as I can to make sure Alduin shows up before I get the axe. Then... Tower. Dragon busts through the window, jumping thirty feet into a burning buildi-FUUUUUUCK _THAT_. But I don't know any alternative routes since the game would railroad you that way. Play it by ear, there. What else, what else...

… Could I get Ralof and Hadvar to work together? Safety in numbers and all that and I don't want to have to fight a dozen stormcloaks-

"Well, this is it. Our time has come." Ralof announced sombrely as the cart slowed to a stop.

Too late for that plan, then.

The soldiers manoeuvre us out of the cart and into an orderly line, Horse Thief professing his (partial) innocence the whole time. It feels like there are a few more rebels and soldiers here than in the game but it might be caused by actually being here rather than seeing it on a screen. Horse thief is next to me at the end of the line.

Wait, he runs, doesn't he? Should I...

And survival instinct rears its ugly head again. Him running holds up the executions and buys time for Alduin to get here. I... I need him to die.

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

"Halt!"

"You're not gonna kill me!"

"ARCHERS!"

A single arrow is loosed into his back. He falls. Three more follow to make sure. His body jerks as the final three arrows sink into his torso. He goes unnaturally limp in a matter of seconds.

I just let a man die to buy me a handful of seconds.

…

-(-)-

A/N: I've been planning a Skyrim fic for months, it feels like. Originally I was going to do a playthrough one in the style of 's 'Wanderer's Diary' but Skyrim is far more strict about what you can and can't do In the game than Fallout was.

Not to mention the problem of working out what's going on in places when I'm not there. Think about it. In Fallout, settlements are settlements and they never really get attacked. But in Skyrim constant attacks on settlements is a major game mechanic and plot point and when the attackers can only be killed by the player character...

So that fell through. Then I started reading some really fantastic self-inserts on Spacebattles (shout out to With This Ring and Welcome the Hellmouth for being super awesome) and I thought I could do something with a 'hardcore self-insert' story, as I name it in my head.

So the details. In this story, I am me. I have my knowledge, experiences and appearance. With my appearance comes my disability (albinism). Therefore I have terrible eyesight and sunlight is painful for my eyes. But, because I do have to be the hero of this story (or die when the world ends) I need at the very least the Dragonborn abilities. Ergo, I am Dragonborn.

So... This'll be a thing.

Obligatory plug. Fandom Flux youtube channel. Podcasts, LPs, fun stuff.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

"Who... are you?"

If I'm going to be stuck here, better to have the name I want rather than the one I have. I was planning on changing it anyway. "My name is Casey. A scholar from High Rock."

"Really?" Hadvar asked. Real people means real conversations so that's a small mercy at least. "I had you pegged for one of those Forsworn savages. What were you doing with the Stormcloaks?"

Huh. Hadvar's more of a dick than was shown in the game. Though he's not wrong about the Forsworn. "I _wasn't_ with the Stormcloaks. I was coming to Skyrim to research for a book I was writing on the effects of the ban on Talos worship." Haha! All those years of practice as a habitual liar are paying off!

"The soldiers reported you were fleeing to the border." Hadvar prodded.

"Well of course I was! I was only in Skyrim for half an hour and already found a bloody battlefield! The rebellion seemed like perfect subject matter for my book but I had no idea it was this bad up here! I figured I'd hole up in Bruma for a few months until this mess was sorted." Rolaf is glaring at me. Either because he thinks I'm trying to weasel my way out or because he now knows I'm not 'in this' with him in any sense of the phrase.

Shit. Hadvar's CO is walking up. Looks like I couldn't change the script after all. "Captain, what do we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list." she answered with disinterest. "He goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain."

… In the game, this captain lady was pretty much a non-character. She had like, 5 lines and was never mentioned again. But to actually be here, to listen to her condemn me to death because doing otherwise would be _inconvenient_... I've never in my life wanted to smash someone's skull into the pavement this badly. I hope she dies in the attack. I hope it's painful.

No. Scratch that. I hope she survives. So I can _make_ _sure_ it's painful.

"I'm sorry." Hadvar tells me, and sounds like he means it. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

He tells me to follow the captain to the line with the other prisoners. I know rationally that I'm going to survi- no. Rephrase. I know they aren't going to execute me in the end. But still, my legs refuse to move. In the end, the captain turns, scowls at me and with an irritated look on her face comes back and frog marches me towards the line and shoves me into place. "I'm sorry, am I causing you problems?" I ask, deadpan. Anyone who knows me would recognise it as a sign I'm trying desperately to keep my temper in check. Angry snark usually works as a slight release. "Please, let me know if I can be more accommodating in my _unlawful execution_."

… You know, in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have said tha-

-(-)-

The very next thing I see is a robed woman in the sky.

Wait... No. No, I'm _looking _at the sky. I'm lying down? Why am I lying down?

"Is he conscious, priestess?" Oh, how I hate that woman's voice. I'll remember it for the rest of my life, I swear.

"He is." The priestess answers with stoicism. Can't even guess what she thinks about this. Though that might be the point.

"Good.", the captain says as she starts hauling me to my feet, only to drop me again as a sudden boom echoes out from above us.

"What in Oblivion is _that_?!" I hear Tullius shout before it happens.

The voice of a dragon. No. The voice of Alduin passes over us.

To describe it as a loud roar would be doing it a disservice. It was loud, yes. Overwhelmingly so. But it was more than that. With the sound came a wave of _pressure_. A dragon could kill a man with claw, or fang, or sheer bulk. But that voice makes it absolutely clear it needs none of those things to rend flesh from bone.

This is the point where I realise how irrevocably in over my head I am. I try to scramble to my feet. A slightly more difficult task with my hands bound, causing me to roll to my knees and stand that way.

Okay. Plan. Plan to survive.

Item 1: Don't die.

Item 2: Find Hadvar. Good guy(ish) with sword.

Item 3: Get to the keep. The keep is safe(ish).

Item 4: Don't die.

Item 5 (which in hindsight should probably have been item 1): RUN.

I sprint off in a random direction as best I can, figuring the captain won't bother chasing me. She has bigger problems right now.

It takes a little while but after a minute or two of running and after bowel-loosening panic becomes the new normal I realise my random direction was in fact the opposite direction from the fort. Not only was I staying entirely out in the open, I was heading in the exact opposite direction of my only available escape. I dart into a row of buildings, partially as a chance to double back, partially to stop and catch my breath.

Apparently the immortal, world-ending dragon wasn't having any of that and tried to bring one of those houses down on top of me. The next few minutes are a blur as that row of houses becomes my only defense even as Alduin crushes and burns them to ash to get to me. The only thing that manages to root itself in my mind is the bravest and stupidest soldier in the Imperial Legion trying to slow it down with a bow. The World-Eater didn't even acknowledge his efforts as a wing slammed into the poor sod.

My eyes are terrible and the smoke in the air isn't helping but my heart leaps into my throat as I finally see the stone walls of Helgen Keep.

… Unfortunately between me and those nice safe stone walls was about fifty yards of wide open space. Luck or fate decides to jump in again to give me a fighting chance. Rolaf's group appear to be making a desperate sprint to the keep. Alduin sees it. And immediately switches targets.

Wait. Switches targets? Does he not know I'm the Dragonborn? Then why did he- _Not important right now_!

With a great flap of his wings, Alduin rises into the sky.

Wait for the shout...

A great wave of heat flows over me as the stormcloak group are immolated. There are no screams. I expected screams. Why don't they scream?

The flames sputter out and my body – absent mind – takes that as a cue to run with everything I have left. I hear what I assume to be a great beat of the dragon's wings before he drops, intending to crush me. The air pressure of his enormous bulk knocks me clear and past the outer wall. I scramble forwards, in the direction of a door that would keep that wall between me and the dragon for as long as possible.

Reaching the door, I fumble with the antiquated mechanism with my bound hands until something clicks and I tumble inside.

Safe.

Another roar outside before I see Hadvar slam the door behind me.

Safe? Relatively speaking.

"You're that prisoner!", Hadvar exclaimed, apparently forgetting my name. "You managed to survive this long out there? And with your hands bound?! In any other circumstance I'd say the divines were smiling on you!"

I open my mouth to say something but... Well, what the hell would _you_ say after going through all that? My thoughts are a jumbled mess of terror right now.

"Here, let me cut those bonds." Hadvar says as he uses a dagger to cut the ropes binding my hands together. "I can trust you not to turn on me right now, right? We have bigger problems to deal with I think."

As though to reinforce the message there is a loud _slam, _strong enough we can feel it through the stone. Clouds of dust and mortar are knocked loose from the keep walls.

The realisation that the dragon has not given up on roasting me or eating me or roasting _then_ eating me brings my mind back into focus. "That thing can and will bring the roof down on us if we give it enough time. Is there another way out for us to get away unnoticed?"

"There's a cave system accessible through the lower levels. Used to be for moving supplies, I think. There should be a way out through there." He looks at a weapon rack with swords on it speculatively before grabbing one. "Know how to wield one of these?"

"Nnnnot as such, no."

"You said you're a scholar. I suggest you learn quickly then. Just try not to stab me accidentally." He adopts a thinking expression. "Or on purpose. That would be bad too."

I nod smiling slightly at his attempt at alleviating the tense atmosphere, taking the sword and trying not to show difficulty in holding it. It's a basic sword for the Imperial soldiery and so made of iron. At a guess it must weigh close to 1 stone. Hadvar headed for the portcullis leading deeper into the keep, immediately coming upon Rolaf in the next room. "Ralof!"

… Or Ralof. I guess.

The stormcloak doesn't look to be in good shape. Based on the burns on his face and that some of his hair has been burned off he didn't get away from Alduin's breath... voice... whatever. He didn't get away unscathed. But based on what happened to the rest of his fellows, he was lucky.

"Hadvar.", he croaks before erupting into a coughing fit. "It figures. Any chance of a stay of execution?"

Hadvar looks him over. A sneer creeps over his face before he gives a reluctant nod. "Fine. We will need to work together if we want to get out of this." He offers Ralof an arm and the Stormcloak takes it.

"Though you may deny him, may Talos smile upon you, old friend.", Ralof says with a smiling grimace as he grasps Hadvar's forearm.

He doesn't have a weapon. I can't decide if that's a good thing or not. In the game if you follow Hadvar the keep is filled with Stormcloaks. If the same is true here (which I'm beginning to doubt), he could just join up with them and kill both Hadvar and I. But this isn't a game. So _realistically_ I doubt the Stormcloaks would win against the legion in their own keep. Hell, a lot of them clearly didn't even make it to the keep.

I walk up to Ralof, sword pointing down since I don't want to seem aggressive and I don't have a sheath for it. "How much can we trust you?" I ask flatly.

Ralof snorts. "If you have to ask the question, milk-drinker..." he trails off. He _really_ doesn't like me.

My eyes move to Hadvar then back to Ralof. "And how much can you trust him?"

Both of the soldiers narrow their eyes at me. "What are you getting at?" Hadvar asks.

I look back the way we came. I just realised that I locked the door behind me. I locked the entrance to one of the safest structures in this place. "There won't be anyone following us. But I'd bet good money we weren't the first to arrive here. The legion doubtlessly retreated some of their men here, whether to escape the dragon or find a more defensible position to fight back." Like the roof. Or... whatever roofs on a keep are called. "Maybe another group of Stormcloaks made it inside. So... what will you do when we run across them?"

Dawning realisation appears on both faces. When faced with that possibility they might turn on one another. Or the other group might force them to do so. The Imperials will expect Hadvar to kill the rebel (and possibly me). The Stormcloaks will... probably attack Hadvar regardless of Ralof's input.

"I want to remind you. We're trying to escape a dragon, here. The one thing the legends seem to agree on is that dragons are the most powerful and capable creatures short of the Aedra and Daedra. If anyone is going to make it out of this, we need to work together. I don't mean us three. I mean us and every survivor we come across, regardless of faction. So it doesn't matter how much we trust each other." I turn the sword over and offer the hilt to Ralof. "All that matters is that to live through this, we _need_ to trust each other."

Ralof looks at the offered weapon, then at my face. A few seconds pass, and he gives an acknowledging nod as he takes it. Hadvar tenses slightly before relaxing as Ralof walks ahead, taking the lead. I trusted him not to attack us when he has a weapon. He trusts us not to attack him when given the opportunity.

You could cut the tension of this temporary alliance with a sheet of paper, and yet it's still _far_ better than the dragon.

I think today is going to mess with my perspective for a long time to come.

-(-)-

"You said you were a scholar... Casey, was it? Writing a book on our revolution?" Ralof asks from up front as we continue walking through the halls.

"Rebellion.", Hadvar corrects irritably.

"I was planning to." I answered, both of us ignoring Hadvar. No sign of other survivors yet. "I believed that this could be a significant moment in the history of the empire. Events here could be the turning point in the conflict with the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Typical Imperial view. Forget about the people for the sake of your 'big picture'." Ralof sneered.

"Those _people_ aren't going to have a good time of it should the Aldmeri win the next war. You think outlawing Talos worship is the worst that they'll do?", I ask rhetorically.

"We _will not_ turn our backs on Talos!", he snaps.

"Talos was Tiber Septim! He founded our empire! Do you think we _want_ to turn our backs on him?", Hadvar asks before I can.

Ralof looks back at us. "No." he says before facing forward again. "But you _did_."

-(-)-

"By Talos! What have you done to my brothers!"

"Stormcloak intruder! Restrain him, Malus!"

"Stand down, soldier! We have bigger problems than one rebel, right now!"

You know, I should probably be doing something about this so it doesn't turn bloody. But what the hell am I supposed to do? We found the torturer's dungeon. I'm having a hard time believing the torturer or his assistant will back down here. Hadvar is trying to pull rank but I'm pretty sure he's only the Legion equivalent of a Corporal. And with a Stormcloak _right there_ and him talking about a dragon attack they aren't going to take him seriously. Ralof likewise isn't likely to let this go. And I don't blame him.

"So you've turned traitor, Hadvar. Really. Dragons? Do you think me a fool? Malus, I won't give the order a third time! Kill all of these rebel scum!"

I need to arm myself. I take the dagger from the nearby table. It's at this point that I notice that both of them are ignoring me. Did they dismiss me because I had no weapons?

The assistant... Malus. He still hesitates. More than before, even, at the order to kill a fellow Legionnaire.

I need to do something. Ralof and Hadvar are readying for a fight but Hadvar is trying to decide on with whom.

"Disobedient fool! Fine!", the torturer exclaims as a _ball of fire erupts in his hands __**oh shit**_. "I'll do it myself."

My body seems to move on its own. I take a few quick steps as quietly as I can around a support beam behind the two, grabbing hold of one of the torturer's arms as I do. As he loses focus on his spell my other arm reaches around his throat. I draw the arm back across, the dagger in my hand cutting through the soft flesh of his neck.

My conscious mind reasserts itself and I suddenly realise I just tried to kill a man. _Tried._

The torturer is still standing, hand to his neck to stem the bleeding. He realises too late he should be retreating to cast healing spells as Ralof is already upon him, running the sword _I gave him_ into the man's stomach.

I killed him. Why did I do that? I've never killed... _anything _before.

I see the corpse, the wound I gave him still leaking blood... and I involuntarily drop to my hands and knees as the contents of my stomach escape me.

I hear a clang of iron striking iron and Hadvar's voice. "Don't make me. None of what I said was a lie. We need to escape this place or the dragon will bury us here."

"Dragons are just legends.", the gruff voice of the assistant doesn't sound so sure of that.

"All legends have truth to them. Lay down your arms and we'll leave. Whether you follow is up to you. But for your own sake I pray to the eight that you do."

There's a clanging sound. I assume Malus' axe hitting the floor.

I wipe at my mouth and survey the room again. Doing my best to focus on something, _anything_ else.

Ralof is still brandishing his sword at the assistant. _Very_ reluctantly, he lowers the blade before stooping to pick up the axe. "I will not kill an unarmed man. But if I ever see you again with weapon in hand, I will avenge their deaths", he indicates the bodies in the cages, "on _you._ And their suffering will pale compared to yours. Now, where are the keys to these cages?"

Malus pulls a ring from his belt with three keys on it. Ralof takes them and starts unlocking the cages, pulling out the corpses. He moves to pick one up but a pained look passes over his face and he seems to change his mind. "I wish I had the time to give you a proper burial. The best I can do is let you rest with your dignity. You will not be left to rot in a cage... May you find peace in Sovngarde."

Once again, he takes the lead into the caves, not saying another word. Only Malus saw me take a couple of books and a satchel with me.

-(-)-

We don't run into anyone else. I guess no one else made it to the keep. Come to think of it, it didn't make any sense that you would run into Stormcloaks past the dungeon if he's still alive. We _do _run into a rather large bear. Ralof decides to show off a little and pierces its skull with an arrow. Hadvar takes the opportunity to harvest some meat and cooks it at a nearby fire-pit. It smells _horrendous_ but it's at this point that I realise I haven't eaten anything in over a day and whatever hadn't been digested yet I lost about half an hour ago. Could do with rinsing my mouth out actually but doing that with water from the stream in these caves seems like a terrible idea.

The meat doesn't taste much better than it smells. Hadvar agrees but tells me it's better when properly prepared. We just don't have time for that.

And now it's the moment of truth. We head cautiously look through the cave exit. No sign of Alduin. We creep further out until we stand on the snow covered slope. Did I mention Skyrim is super cold? Did I mention I'm still in my rags? Fucking Sheogorath.

"Get down!" Hadvar whisper-shouts. The three of us take cover behind a small rock outcropping as we hear the telltale roar. Far in the distance I can see a black shape against the clouds before it disappears. He's gone.

There's a moment of relieved silence. We survived.

Hadvar turns and looks to Ralof. "Riverwood?"

Ralof nods determinedly. "They need to be told. We have to warn them. We go there, we spread the word, we go our separate ways. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

They both look at me... OH! "Agreed. What else was I going to do dressed in rags and only carrying a dagger?"

"And books. Why did you pick those up though?" Hadvar asks.

"Well this one", as we come out of hiding I hold up the first book with a drawing of a flaming hand on it, "seemed wise to take. I need some way to defend myself if I'm staying in this province. I think the message was clear that heading home is _not _an option." The fake one or the real one.

"And the other?" Ralof presses as we start the long walk to Riverwood.

I take hold of the other book and look at the cover, the symbol of Akatosh embossed into it. "Divine providence.", I sigh, not happy at all that it's probably exactly that.

They both look at me with eyebrows raised.

"I know but think about it. We're making our way through a keep, trying to escape a dragon. A creature long thought to be myth or legend or exaggeration. As we go through this keep I find a grand total of _two_ books. Nothing about tactics or military history or combat as you might expect from a military building. Just an instruction book on shooting electricity from your hands and _a book about people who can kill dragons_."

"... Well if you put it like that it _does_ seem like a pretty big coincidence." Hadvar admits.

"But if it is a message from the nine and that's a _rather large 'if'_. Why give us this message?" Ralof asks.

"Not us. Him." Hadvar corrects. "Neither of us would be looking for books in there. A scholar on the other hand..."

"Well... you might be reaching a bit for that." They are. Because I'm not a scholar and I'm assuming neither was the original Nordy dragonborn. "Still, if I'm right, message received. Looks like I'm looking for a dragonborn." Huh. Found him. That was easy. "Then I tell them to go kill a bunch of dragons and maybe I can go home."

"Ha! I wish you luck with that.", Ralof laughs. "Still, it's true that the dragon should be our priority right now. With it around, any town could be another Helgen." he adds somberly.

I look back. Even with my eyes I can see the smoke column rising from where Helgen used to be. "Yeah..."

-(-)-

A/N: Man this took a long time. I got a bit stuck on how to rejigger things after I had Ralof join the party. Fixed it though. And after I did it all worked out rather neatly.

So... writing me killing a dude was pretty weird. Was super uncomfortable with it. I figure at this point the character is very much no longer me. Very similar to me in a lot of aspects but not me.

Anyway! Regular plug incoming. Fandom Flux channel on Youtube. We do podcasts on writing (usually). We do Lets Plays. We did a show about new manga releases but it's on a bit of a hiatus right now. Cast members are all fanfiction writers and include myself, Slicerness, KingofZeroX, Kenchi618, Serpentguy and Arrixam. Fun stuff. Check it out.

Annnnnnnnnd I just realised I forgot to release the newest podcast for the sake of writing this. Oops! I should get on that now.

Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

The trip from Helgen to Riverwood was actually much longer in reality than it was in the game. But considering you could make the trip in about five minutes of walking, that shouldn't be a surprise. We had to make camp at the Guardian Stones which Hadvar told me was about halfway to our destination. Speaking of the Stones, it should surprise no one that I chose The Mage. I was half expecting choosing one was more ceremonial in reality but there was a definite thrum in the core of my being when I touched the stone. It did _something_ but Go- err, Divines know what.

That'll take some getting used to.

Anyway, making camp. Ralof volunteered to gather some food and water leaving Hadvar and I to assemble a campfire from gathered wood and stones. Kind of glad because this was know-how I didn't have before and would doubtlessly be essential in the very near future. Actually starting the fire turned out to be trivially easy thanks to my studies.

Magic. If the ever-present feeling of impending doom is the major downside of this little prank of Sheogorath's, being able to do real, actual magic is _definitely_ the upside.

So that book I picked up. It was basically a 'how-to' guide for the basic lightning Destruction spell, 'Sparks'.

… God dammit. I just realised I'm now an albino with electricity powers. As an aside, fuck that movie. Powder? No kidding. Guy looked like he tried to drown himself in talcum powder.

Where was I? Oh, right. Sparks. So it's a basic spell. Funnily enough, whomever writes these spell tomes actually includes a basic treatise on how to access and manipulate magicka stored in the body. I'm assuming that's only true for the novice spells. It's rather easy once you know how. What surprises me is that in the step by step guide to accessing one's magicka reserve, it states that if you fail at a certain step you have insufficient reserves and will never be able to cast even the most basic spells. I'm now curious how common actually being capable of magic _is_.

The actual mechanics of spellcasting are an interesting combination of the pseudo-spiritual and understanding of natural laws enough to manipulate them. Once the connection has been made to the 'well' of magicka inside the body, one can tap it to manipulate... well, anything really. Pretty much any natural law or substance can be altered with power requirements determining how much. But of course doing so without thought to the outcome is terrifyingly dangerous. In the case of Sparks and doubtless any other lightning spells, messing with the electric charge of an object or _yourself_. And you know what? I barely understand this crap. I somehow understood it enough that I managed a successful cast for a second but I still wish I got fire or ice instead. I'm going to guess they involve messing with thermodynamics and I understand that a hell of a lot better than electricity.

Yes, real magic is fucking awesome but I still don't want it to kill me. That would suck.

Anyway, now that I've basically got the spell down enough to practice with it, I've turned my attention to the _other_ book. And found something I knew about, but forgot. "Listen to this." I tell Hadvar and Ralof as they work on cooking the fish Ralof caught (I assume with his bare hands since he doesn't have a rod).

"When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world.

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped.

When the thrice-blessed fall and the Red Tower trembles.

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls.

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding.

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

They look at each other. Back to me. Back at each other. Ralof speaks. "I understood exactly none of that. How about you?"

"What was that? Poetry?", Hadvar asks.

"Prophecy.", I answer as I try to fit the pieces in place. "Apparently where it came from is up for debate. Some say an Elder Scroll. Some say it was the Blades. Lost to history, I suppose. But don't some of those events sound familiar?"

"The white tower falls... Sounds like the battle in the Imperial City during the Great War. Emperor Titus had the legion fight their way out of the city making it an Aldmeri victory. They burned down the Imperial Palace and sacked the White-Gold Tower." Hadvar explains.

Ralof's eyes widen. "Did you say World-Eater?!"

"The World-Eater wakes and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn. Yes." I repeat.

Hadvar looks wary. "Wait, you don't think it could really be-"

"Alduin the World-Eater." Ralof gasps in pure terror head in his hands. "We should be dead. We should be dead a thousand times over and more if that was really him!"

"I don't understand.", I said, feigning confusion. "I thought Alduin was just the Nord name for Akatosh. Where does this World-Eater business come from?"

"There are... stories." Hadvar starts to explain. "Passed down through generations, stories of the great dragon king, Alduin the World-Eater who ruled over all other dragons. The stories say he was defeated a long time ago. First Era? Maybe even before that. But if he has returned..."

"I must go to Windhelm!" Ralof states determinedly. "I must tell Jarl Ulfric of this. He knows more of dragons than any other I could name. He studied with the Greybeards to learn the dragon... shouts..." A look of realisation crosses his face. Oh _no._ _No no no no no-_ "Could it be? Could Jarl Ulfric be the Dragonborn of legend?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions.", Hadvar tries, not liking the idea of Ulfric the Prophecised Hero any more than I do. "By that logic the Greybeards are also Dragonborn."

"But it makes sense!", Ralof argues but relents at our uncomfortable expressions. "Fine. But I will still tell him of this. Can you copy that prophecy for me to take to show him?"

"I don't think General Tullius will be so trusting of Nord legends but I should bring him this knowledge also." Hadvar adds.

I sigh. "When we get to Riverwood, get me paper and ink and I can do that." I hope. Never written with a quill before. "Then... I think I head to Whiterun."

Hadvar instantly agrees with that idea. "You could ask Jarl Balgruuf to send troops to defend Riverwood!"

"I could do that too, I suppose.", I shrug. "I was more hoping I could find a mage to apprentice under."

"You won't find many of those in Skyrim, friend.", Ralof informs me. Wait, friend? "Best bet would be the College in Winterhold but..."

"'Friend'?" I parrot back at him.

"Is that so strange?" Ralof laughs. "We have been through more together than most. Do not forget though that Hadvar is also my friend. This war pits brothers against brothers. All being my friend means is that I will endeavour to give you a quick death should we meet on the field of battle. And that I will pray for you afterwards."

I... don't really know what to say to that, so I'll go with an old standby. "Likewise."

"Ha, 'likewise' he says. Had we mead I'd say we share a drink and toast our survival."

"Well, we don't have mead but still.", I mime holding a glass... mug... tankard? Whatever. "To doing what we must for Skyrim."

Hadvar and Ralof glance at each other and understanding passes between them. They mimic my gesture.

"**Aye.**"

-(-)-

It was sunny today. God dam- FUCK. Divines damn it all.

Yep. That'll take a while.

So it was unpleasant walking the rest of the way to Riverwood in shiny, shiny sunshine. The other two noticed my discomfort and showed some concern I might be a vampire. To which I called them idiots, showed them my perfectly ordinary teeth, kept walking and immediately tripped over a rock I couldn't see.

Fuck the sun. And Meridia. I guess it's partially her fault in this world.

But now, finally (and after a fight with a wolf in which I did nothing), we have arrived at Riverwood. And suddenly things get awkward.

Ralof turns to Hadvar and they grasp each other's forearms. "You could have cut me down many times but you didn't. I suppose I owe you my life in that. Were we not on opposing sides, I would call you brother."

"I could say the same.", Hadvar nodded.

Ralof turns to me. "Casey." He offers his arm. I copy the gesture and grab his forearm. As he grabs mine in turn he grips tightly. "_Grip firmly_, Casey. This is a warrior's greeting." I try to exert some pressure and he grins at me, laughter in his eyes. "Work on it." He releases and I follow his lead. "Be sure to visit my sister's home before you leave for Whiterun. I'll leave something with her for you. Thank you for helping with that mage. Was it your first kill?"

I nod. The entire scene replaying in my head as it has a dozen times over the past day.

"It gets easier. Take solace that he deserved that and worse. I believe you'll choose your side in this war in the future. If that's so, I ask the Nine I don't see either of you on the battlefield." Having said his piece, Ralof walks further into the village.

Hadvar clears his throat. "We should go. My uncle's house is just up ahead.", he tells me before heading into the village. It's actually a village rather than four houses, a shop and an inn somewhat close together. To compare... It's about the size that Whiterun is in the game. A lot of the residents seem to be involved in producing or using lumber in some way. Lumberjacks, carpenters and craftsmen, and of course there's still Lod's lumber mill on the edge of town. Naturally Alvor's house is easy to spot thanks to the smoke from the forge.

As we approach the house something strikes me as different about it. Can't really put my... finger on it...

… _The forge isn't next to the house._

Of course it isn't. _Of course it isn't! _The house is made of wood and thatch! My Go- Divine that was dumb now that I've realised it. Holy shit. You may as well take a torch to the place. Instead it's behind the house a good ways away.

"Uncle Alvor!" Hadvar calls to the smith as we approach.

With sudden realisation, I lean over and say quietly, "Don't tell him how bad we think it really is."

He gives a slight nod in response.

-(-)-

Alvor was exactly as generous as he was in the game. More so, in fact. He directly invited me to stay the night for a proper night's rest before I head to Whiterun. That, a change of clothes, some supplies for the trip and 20 septims to get any other essentials means I feel pretty heavily indebted to this man. On saying as much, he denied it outright, saying I'd done more than enough in helping Hadvar get out of Helgen alive. Not sure I did that. And it makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of his kindness. But he won't hear of me trying to pay him back.

I ended up sleeping in front of the fireplace since they didn't have any spare beds but that was fine. Alvor's daughter kept bugging me with questions about the dragon but I was so tired I fell asleep anyway. It wasn't the first time I've slept on the floor but I certainly haven't done it since I was a teenager. Even in your mid-twenties it's a recipe for aches and pains for the rest of the day. Yet somehow it didn't bother me at all when I awoke.

In the morning I learned that Hadvar had already left with the copies of the prophecy I scribed for him and Ralof. I hope he was sensible enough to deliver the Stormcloak's copy to him. Putting that aside, I headed to the trader to get some other supplies Alvor didn't give me. A couple of waterskins, some dried meat, a fur lined jacket (jerkin, apparently, as the trader corrects me) and a proper iron dagger with a sheath. Doesn't hurt to have a proper knife on you and I can't trust my magic much yet. I can cast Sparks properly now but I'm... uncomfortable with how little I understand the mechanics. I could get a fair amount of money if I sold the book but I'd rather keep it as a refresher until I suss it out. All told, I have about 2 Septims left to my name. Not actually two coins. There are actually smaller denominations of currency but my loose understanding of it totals my change to about that. In reality that's enough to live on for a couple of days if you don't mind sleeping outdoors.

Alvor and Gerdur (Ralof's sister) seem to live at opposite ends of the village. Makes sense. Alvor's work can be a nuisance and Gerdur and her husband Lod's lumber mill needs the space. As I approach I can see a woman that must be Gerdur in front of the house. "Excuse me? Err, my name is Casey. Would you be Gerd-urk!", I grunt involuntarily as she runs up and hugs me with _great force_. I gasp to refill my lungs as she releases me.

She puts her hands on my shoulders. "Thank you for getting my brother out of Helgen. By the dragon or the Imperials he would've been dead if you weren't there. I'll just be a moment, wait here." She tells me as she heads inside. Around thirty seconds later she comes back out with... something. Can't make it out. A belt, maybe? "Ralof asked me to give these to you when you came by. It's a tonic belt." She explains as she hands it to me.

I take a closer look at it. Leather, it looks like. Straps with buckles to fasten it in place and already stocked with three potions. Healing, assuming the colours track with the game.

"He told me to tell you, 'Don't die. These should help with that'."

I laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time since I got here. "Thank you."

Gerdur shook her head. "We're thanking you, idiot. And this is from me." She raises her left hand to display a silver ring. A ring that, if you look at it long enough, has an ethereal green glow.

"I can't-", I don't even get chance to refuse as she takes my hand, opens it and puts the ring in it.

"Please. Take it. If it makes you feel any better about it I'm giving this to you for partially selfish reasons. You are heading to Whiterun, yes? To talk to the Jarl?" She asks. I nod in response. "This ring will let you run further, faster. Please, ask him to send us aid. I don't know what can stand against a dragon but. Even if it's only to reassure people, I don't want this village to live in fear."

Looking into her eyes is a revelation. There's so much fear there but also the hope that I can come through and save the day, even if it's just a case of keeping people calm. Of letting people feel safe. It means the world to her.

Am... Am I a hero?

The torturer's corpse flashes in my vision for a second. And in that instant I realise I didn't even know his _name_.

God dammit.

"I'll do everything I can." I promise her.

-(-)-

A/N: HOLY HELL I finished this the same day as last chapter. Where did this come from?

Oh, right. I drank a red bull. Guess energy drinks really _do_ help with my writing motivation. Not sure why. I'll have to find some form of coffee or tea that I find palatable so I can have a somewhat healthier option.

Anyway.

I would do the usual thing with plugging the Fandom Flux youtube channel but I did that last time and last time was a couple days ago. You guys know the drill.

Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

The beast lunges at me, jaws slack in preparation to tear into my flesh. I can see frothing drool spray as it leaps. Panicking, I release streams of lightning from my hand, hoping to dissuade it.

No noticeable reaction. The creature has faced other puny mages. I'm sure they must have been delicious.

I try to dodge out of the way of its snapping jaws. I'm only partially successful. Its charge doesn't bowl me over as it intended but its teeth sink into my arm. In my fear, I shake my arm, trying to loose the creature. It detaches from my arm but as it lands on the dirt road, it scrambles and immediately leaps at me again not giving me time to fight back, flee, to even _think_. Lightning flashes again, from both of my hands this time, not enough to arrest its momentum but it successfully disorients it enough it misses its moment to strike. It still barrels into me, knocking me off balance. It doesn't land as gracefully this time and I take the half second of an open target and abuse it for all it's worth, unloading everything I have into its face, draining my Magicka significantly. When I finally let up, the creature is lying in the dirt, twitching involuntarily. I draw my dagger and gracelessly cut into the flesh of it's throat to end it.

I gasp for breath, adrenaline fading slightly as I start to notice the pain of my bite wound. I sigh in relief at my survival.

The sound of snarls from the trees remind me of a very unfortunate fact.

Oh right. Forgot. Wolves hunt in packs.

-(-)-

I love healing potions, I realise as I look from the wolf corpses to my rapidly healing wounds. These things are the best ever. I mean it took two to get me in reasonable shape but I was most certainly _not_ in reasonable shape thirty seconds ago. I need to find a way to carry like, a hundred of these at a time.

I have no magicka left. Or I didn't by the end of the fight. It still regenerates over time like how I remember it but I don't know at what rate.

My head snaps up as I hear an impact followed by a whimper. I see one of the wolves I thought was dead collapse with an arrow jutting out of its throat.

A voice sounds from ahead of me further up the road. "Your movements are sloppy, your reactions slow, that magic you used is a parlour trick at best-" As she nears I get a better look at her. A very recognisable face even if it's one I've never seen before. The three war-paint stripes across the face resembling claw marks are a bit of a give-away. Aela the Huntress. She steps up to the wolves near soundlessly and gives the wolf she shot a swift kick. No response. "and you didn't check your kills. Why is an untrained child walking this road alone?"

I grimaced. "Yeah, most of that is true, though I take offence to the 'child' crack." Seriously. I get told I look younger for my age but surely you can't mistake a 26 year old for a child of any definition. She must be taking the piss. "I need to deliver word to the Jarl of the attack on Helgen."

"What happened at Helgen?" She asks, "And why would they not send a real messenger instead of an incapable whelp like you?"

I bite into the flesh of my lower lip to avoid saying something I'll regret. Instead, "There are no 'real' messengers left. As far as I know, there were only three survivors, including myself, a legionnaire and one of the rebels. I'm hoping General Tullius managed to escape and it's possible the Stormcloak managed as well, but I didn't see it."

Her voice drips with suspicion. "And I'm supposed to believe you."

Propriety be damned, I laugh at her. "I don't _care_ if you believe me! The smoking rubble that used to be Helgen is as much proof as I need. Riverwood already knows the truth. Dragons have returned to Skyrim and the Jarl needs to know about it as soon as possible. The Legionnaire went to Solitude to inform the Imperial forces of what we learned. The rebel went to Windhelm to tell the Stormcloaks. That left little ol' me to get my ass to Whiterun and tell the Jarl that _his_ people are in the most immediate danger."

She scoffs. "Dragons. Of course. And you survived one? Why not. You're _clearly_ a great warrior. Just _brimming _with strength and courage."

I rise to my feet angrily. "I watched _dozens_ of soldiers filled with strength and courage killed as an _afterthought_ by that thing! Strength and courage didn't save me that day. I survived by pure blind _luck_. I escaped that thing's notice because it was too busy _**killing everyone else**_. So if all I can do is get to Whiterun so they can do... _something_ to prepare? I'll do it gladly without fear. After what I've seen, it's hard to be scared of anything less."

She just stands there for a moment. I feel like she's studying me since she keeps tilting her head as if to look at me from different angles. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and releases it. "So you do have a pair on you at least. Stop by the Companions mead hall after you deliver your 'message'. Maybe we can make something worthwhile out of you."

With that as her parting words, she turns and walks away back into the woods. Leaving me with three wolf corpses and no idea what to do with them. Their meat is rubbish, right? Stringy or something, I don't know. Their pelts are worth something I think... Though I haven't the faintest idea of how to skin them. Nor do I want to take time to make an attempt.

I drag the corpses (carcasses?) to the side of the road and continue on my way. Something'll eat 'em probably, I guess. If not, they're fertiliser.

-(-)-

Whiterun is _fucking HUGE_.

Okay. It's not London or anything. It's not even Stoke. But this is still way bigger than I was expecting. Definitely big enough to merit the term 'city'. The game made big talk about the 'districts' of Whiterun. The Cloud 'district' was just the palace, the Wind 'district' was three or four houses and the Plains was everything else. In other words, the Plains district made up about four fifths of the city.

Here, not so much. There's a bit more distribution and the descriptors given for the districts actually fit more to what you were told. The Plains district held most of the commercial enterprises and there were a lot more of them about. Competing blacksmiths, alchemists, a general store (not Belethor's, he seems to have more of a pawn shop thing going) and _so many market stalls selling food and it smells so good and I haven't eaten since this morning and I've been jogging the whole way here and... and..._

Wait.

How in the ever living hell did I manage to jog the whole way here? That's several times beyond my fitness level. I mean I don't know the precise distance between those woods and Whiterun but... Did I just run a literal marathon?!

… Prioritise. Is it vitally important that I know _right now_ how that's possible?

No.

Not worrying about it then. I'll take my awesome healthiness and be happy about it. Doesn't mean I can't speculate while eating that _delicious looking_ roasted lamb thing over there.

Not lamb, according to the vendor. Goat. Don't care. Delicious.

-(-)-

Okay. Healthy, yes. But remember how I said Whiterun is huge? It is also still almost entirely uphill to get to Dragonsreach. The lack of rest is finally starting to get to me. I'm tempted to look into Conjuration purely to see if there's a Conjure Comfy Chair spell. That'd be so awesome right now.

The guards at the main doors of the palace give me a once-over and seem to find my exhaustion and haggard appearance unworthy of admittance. "State your business at Dragonsreach, outsider." One of them demands. Do I really look that out of place?

Who am I kidding. Of course I do.

"I bring word of the attack on Helgen. The Jarl must be informed." I answered, as officially as I could manage.

The guard gives me a queer look before nodding to the other one. "The Jarl's housecarl, Lady Irileth, will judge the truth of your 'word'. Fair warning: If she deems you false, you may find your head separated from your shoulders."

"Noted." I answer and with a confirming nod, the two guards push open the enormous doors of the palace enough for me to enter. As I pass through, they immediately close them again.

_Warmth._

I haven't been indoors in well over a day. Even back in Riverwood in Alvor's house there was a constant draft that could be felt through the stonework. The last real, all-consuming warmth I felt was back home.

I'm not counting the dragon. A burning town does not equal warmth. Besides, it was clearly snowing even then and I was in rags.

No, there has been real effort put into making this palace as comfortable as possible. Braziers line the room, a giant firepit in the centre, the stone walls have even been wood panelled and painted to reduce the draft.

Okay, it's decided. I'm living here.

As I walk forward I try to hide my tiredness a little. Nord culture is not big on showing weakness, after all. As I reach the top of the stairs before the dining area I'm immediately stopped by a guard's order of "Wait here."

As I obey, I can see one of the people around Jarl Balgruuf's throne move towards me. Dark elf, red hair, permanent frowny face, dark leathers. Hand placed on her sword's hilt ready to draw it. "State your business."

I repeat what I told the guards outside. "I bring word of the attack on Helgen." A slight change in her expression. Is she frowning _harder_?

"Follow me. Don't do anything stupid." She orders, turning around and walking back to the Jarl's side. I follow her, stopping at what I hope is a respectful distance from the man himself.

I shoot a questioning look at Irileth and ask quietly, "Do I kneel?"

Turns out, sound carries _really_ well in this room. I'm pretty sure the Jarl is laughing at me on the inside. Irileth's eyes roll up as though asking the Divines for patience before looking back at me and shaking her head a little.

Right. No kneeling. Stand strong and all that. Nords. Ragh.

"So, you know what happened at Helgen. How many ears has this account passed through?" Balgruuf asks.

I _think_ he's asking if this is second hand information? "None. I was there."

"I see..." He murmurs. "Very well, then. Tell us your view of what happened. We shall see if it matches the other one we received."

My eyebrows raise. Someone else sent a-? Oh, right. The armies. Probably Tullius sent a messenger off. I take a deep breath and give a complete account of what happened at Helgen. I somehow managed to avoid venting about that bitch captain that almost killed me to the local nobility. Go me.

When I got to the part about Alduin's attack, they were hanging on my every word. I guess that was the part they got a message about. I explained how the dragon didn't seem to 'breathe' fire as I had believed but rather shouted it with words somehow. I outlined my escape into the keep or as much of it as I remember beyond fire and screams and how Hadvar, Ralof and I escaped through the caves.

"So it's true. Dragons have returned to Skyrim." He said solemnly before his eyes snapped to his housecarl. "Irileth, send some men down to Riverwood. They are to guard the village and do what they can to fortify it. Have them work with the smiths there. Anything they can come up with that might drive off a dragon."

"If I may," I interrupt, waiting for permission. Balgruuf nods, giving it. "Ranged weaponry. Bows, crossbows... Ballista and trebuchet if they can manage it. A little magic if they have the aptitude. From what I saw, the dragon didn't need to come to us. It chose to."

"Why?" Irileth asked.

"I don't presume to know how dragons think.", I lied, "but at a guess? Psychological warfare." Confused or questioning looks all around. "Uhh... Attacking morale. A forty foot tall monster of destruction that's far away is _far _less terrifying than that same monster up close and personal."

"I see..." Balgruuf said. "As the boy said, Irileth. Bows."

"At once, my Jarl." Irileth acknowledged before bowing and heading to where I assume the barracks are.

"Proventus, summon Commander Caius. We need to train our men to fight foes that can take to the skies."

"Of course." Avenicci bows slightly before following Irileth.

"And as for you, boy, what is your name?", Balgruuf asks me.

"I am called Casey. Also. Not a boy." That's starting to get really annoying.

He chuckles lowly. "At your age, all boys say that." Oh, you son of a- "Very well. Casey. You said you were a scholar? You came here to write a book?"

"That's correct." I love how easy that lie is to maintain.

"I'd say if you ever manage it, it will be a far more interesting read now. But I should think priorities have changed a little, yes? What do you know of dragons? Of their legends?"

Hm. How much to not say... "I found a book in the tunnels under Helgen that I've been reading. It has some details. Most concerning would be dragons are supposedly immortal. Rather, they can die, but only when the soul of another dragon is nearby to devour it. Then there was the... other thing that I found." I dig the book out of my pack and open it to the page of the prophecy and hand it to him.

"What is this?" He asks, reading it.

"A prophecy. Likely from an Elder Scroll. With a little creative thinking, it fits events already passed. The usurpation of the Empire by Jagar Tharn, The Warp in the West, the end of Dagoth-Ur and subsequent eruption of Red Mountain, the end of the Septim dynasty... the murder of High King Torygg."

"The World-Eater wakes," He recites, "and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

"I'm not a big fan of fate." I admit. More than ever now. "But it seems the most expedient solution would be to find this 'last Dragonborn'."

Balgruuf shakes his head and throws the book back to me. "This is certainly a time of legends, I admit. But until I see a Dragonborn before my very eyes," HA! "I will seek more practical answers." He stands and takes a couple of steps towards me. "I have a proposition for you. You have proven you are well learned for one so young. I would have you assist my court wizard, Farengar, in researching the dragon threat. To find out everything we can about them and how to defeat them."

"I admit, pre-first era is not exactly my area of expertise. But I will do what I can."

I try not to look smug as my plan falls exactly into place.

Time to learn some _real_ magic.

-(-)-

A/N: My internet crapped out. 3AM is too early to call tech support. I got bored. Decided to write for a bit. Yay.

This was really a 'moving things along' chapter. Getting me to Whiterun. Getting an in with the Jarl and Farengar. The meeting Aela was an incidental thing. Better introduction than her chewing me out for not helping to kill a giant that they already killed. Fun fact, there were more wolves than shown. She killed the rest.

Well, that's done. Now... what the hell else do I do while I wait for tech support to open...

Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

I have been at Farengar's beck and call for a month and a half.

"-and be sure to purify the alchemical solution with-"

To say it had become trying would be false.

"-and of course, the floors need sweeping and the shelves dusting again."

From the very first day, Farengar was one of the most annoying men I have ever met.

Don't get me wrong. I got exactly what I wanted from him as far as beginner magic training was concerned. I have at least one spell of every school well enough under control to cast it in controlled conditions. In the middle of a fight would be another matter entirely but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. The problem is Farengar was not impressed on meeting me. Balgruuf told him I was a scholar and I could feel the Court Wizard suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Instead of assisting him in research, he instead basically made me a chore boy, though in hindsight I can see why he might think little of me. And I now know why everyone has been calling me 'boy' or 'child'.

I've never been a vain person. Never cared for my appearance. Hell, my flat never contained a single mirror while I lived there. So it wasn't until a week into my time with Farengar that I caught sight of my reflection. It seems the Mad God did a little more than have me and the Dragonborn change places. He took three inches of height, thinned out my facial hair and gave me back a little baby fat.

Physically, I was sixteen again.

My initial reaction was disbelief. Followed quickly by horror. I remember being sixteen (the first time). It was... unpleasant. Granted a lot of the factors in play _then_ aren't _now_ but still.

However, after considering it, Sheggy had actually done me a _massive_ favour. Ten extra years of good health? An adolescent's physical ability and the added benefits of training it? The greater capacity for learning? _Awesome._ And super useful for not dying prematurely in a crappy medieval fantasy setting. Sure it means people won't take me as seriously for now, but once I kill a dragon and start knocking people over with a word? Yeah.

Oh... Wait... I have to _kill a dragon_ for any of that to be a factor. Suddenly I'm having dreams of a simple life selling fruit at one of the market stalls and not worrying about eldritch-abomination doom-lizards.

It would be a nice – if brief – existence. I'm sure I could I'd get at least a year before Whiterun is burned to cinders.

"And since you have shown a _slight_ talent for the arcane arts, I will offer some of my time explaining the basic concepts of alteration magic in more detail."

A man can dream.

"Yes, Farengar."

-(-)-

"Fucking Farengar _grumble grumble_ stupid deliveries _grumble grumble_ she needs to stop telling me how diseased I am..."

"Casey. Just who I was looking for." I hear Farengar exclaim in that weird, halfhearted way of his as the Dragonsreach doors slam shut behind me.

"Yeah, yeah I got your... Whatever this is. Seriously, you _have_ a potions lab. You have _me_ maintain it every day. Why do you keep outsourcing your potions?" I ask.

"Because I have better things to do, of course." Farengar answers condescendingly. Yeah, that's actually a pretty good reason, I suppose. "Now stop distracting me. I have a job for you."

I roll my eyes. "Oooof course you do. What is it this time? Get more paper? Fetch _another_ potion from Arcadia you forgot to tell me about?"

"Nothing so mundane. This is actually important." Oh, you _ass_. "One of my contacts has finally come through with a possible location for the Dragonstone! Finally we will know the locations of every dragon burial site, every dragon priest tomb! We have a real lead on how to find out more about the dragons and perhaps even find a way to slay them!"

"That's, actually great newwwww... You're having me go fetch it, aren't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Of course. Jarl Balgruuf cannot afford to lose me at such a critical time, thus you will be going in my place." One day, I will set this man on fire. And I will feel _no_ guilt whatsoever. "We believe the stone to be located within Bleak Falls Barrow, most likely within the main chamber."

"We do, do we?" I ask rhetorically. "And of course we're funding a bodyguard for me so I don't die to the draugr, aren't we?"

Farengar waves a hand dismissively. "I am confident in your abilities. Besides, the tomb hasn't been disturbed in centuries. I'm sure the protective wards have long since dissolved."

My response is a flat look. "When I get back, I'm setting you on fire."

-(-)-

The people of Whiterun give me a wide berth as I walk down the street. I have a bit of a mixed reputation in the city at this point. Those who don't recognise me see a mage what with the robe and all. Blue, basic magicka regeneration enchantment so they glow a little too. That alone gets the magickaphobic Nords to keep their distance. Those that _do_ recognise me know that I work in Dragonsreach and that I'm not just a servant, despite the tasks Farengar tends to set me. That implies power and influence. I don't have either, but they believe I do.

So when any of them see me walking down the street grumbling and cursing as I go, they do their level best to move out of my way. Kind of an empowering feeling, actually.

Alright. Farengar probably isn't entirely wrong. Draugr are slow and stupid. Easy to kill. I probably don't need protection to get past them. The main problem comes before that. Bandits. Around a dozen of them. All raised in a culture that expects you to learn how to fight. Those... I may need someone to have my back for.

Alright. Options. Lydia the badass is unavailable until after I... Until later. There's the mercenary in the Drunken Huntsman (I want to say Jenny? No, that's what they called her in Spoiler Warning. Whatever, it was something like that). I don't think I could afford her rates though. The Jarl pays well but not 'hire someone to potentially die for you' well. Besides, that money is set aside for delicious potions!

Then there was... Okay. Don't remember her name at all but you have a fistfight with her and she's your friend forever after.

…

… Pfffffhahahahaha! Yeah! Me! Win a fistfight with a woman in _full plate!_. Pull the other one, it's got bells on!

So that's not an option either. Were there any others?

… Shit.

… Shit! I might have to do this on... my...

_Hellooooo..._

-(-)-

"Keep your guard up!"

"Don't let him hide like that! Body blows!"

Ah, the first introduction to Jorrvaskr and the Companions. A brawl in the dining hall. Really sets the tone.

Uninteresting boy number one eventually beats uninteresting boy number two and the rest of the companions watching disperse. Eventually they notice me and one of the twins elects himself the one to approach me. I think it's Vilkas since he isn't as stout as the other one.

"Welcome to Jorrvaskr, the hall of the Companions. I am Vilkas." He introduces himself. Ha! Guessed right.

"My name is Casey. I was hoping I might..." How to word it... "I have need of the services of the Companions."

Vilkas nods. "I see. Tell me what you need, and I will tell you what our assistance will cost."

His tone is surprising. He always seemed like the friendlier one to me but he's being kind of curt. Maybe they're all like this when discussing business? Not a part of the job they like, I guess, not enough stabbing or crushing. "I have been given a task by the Jarl's court wizard, my employer. He wants me to retrieve an artifact from Bleak Falls Barrow, west of Riverwood. I believe it prudent to hire protection for this undertaking... Pardon the pun."

Vilkas snorts, all-business façade broken briefly, then shakes his head. "Your request is not uncommon. However, it is not the type of work we do. We are primarily hunters, not guards. We find, we kill. Or, we find, we retrieve. We could retrieve the artifact for you-"

"With respect, I'm not sure you could." I interject. Bullshit time. "I have spent some time researching ancient Nord tombs in preparation for something like this. I would need to be there to get you through the security measures."

"Then I am afraid we are at an impasse." He says apologetically before a clearing throat cuts him off.

I turn and see a ZZ Top member coming up the stairs from the living quarters, Aela following him. "We shouldn't be so hasty, Vilkas. Aela, this is the one?"

"Yes, Harbinger." she answers. _Ohhhhh_, this guy! No wonder I didn't recognise him. I had a grand total of two conversations with him before his oh so tragic and incredibly meaningful death.

"Aela spoke of you some two months ago. She told me of a boy she met on the roads, alone, fighting a pack of wolves. She said you showed potential." Kodlak tells me.

"That is not _quite_ what I said, Harbinger." Aela corrects behind him.

"Yes, well I'm afraid I don't have the flair for backhanded compliments that you do, dear girl." He laughs before focusing on me again. "So escaping the wrath of a dragon, battling the wildlife and now plundering an ancient nordic tomb. I think 'potential' might fit you just fine."

"Harbinger?" Vilkas says in a questioning tone.

"Vilkas is quite right, boy. The Companions don't really have the temperament for protection work. But there is one thing we _do_ protect and that is our own. If you are one of us, we will assist you in this. Payment will still be required, it is still a job. But it will be a job we can do."

"What would be expected of me if I join?" I ask.

Kodlak laughs. "Not much, truth be told. You would have a bed here, should you need it. Work should you seek it. You are in need so we will assist, all we will ask for is the same thing in return."

"And you have no problems with... Well, my skills aren't exactly in sword or bow." I tell him, forming sparks in my left hand, frost in my right.

Kodlak laughs. A deep belly laugh. "The boy thinks we will turn him away for his unnatural powers!" The other circle members chuckle along with him. "Trust me, boy. We have no fear of the strange in this hall."

"Well..." I'm trying to think of a downside here. The only one that comes to mind would be after I kill a dragon. And if that isn't putting the cart before the horse I don't know what is. "If you will have me, I will join." Not being a werewolf though. Fuck _that_.

"That is good to hear! As to how we shall proceed... How urgent is this task you have been set?" Kodlak asks.

"_Very_." I answer. "It pertains to the dragons' return to Skyrim. The artifact is supposed to be a map of dragon burial mounds and dragon priest tombs."

"I see..." Kodlak murmurs looking at the Circle members to gauge reactions. Vilkas looks unhappy about me joining. Farkas doesn't seem to be even paying attention. Aela looks at me then at the Harbinger giving him a slight nod. Skjor... doesn't seem to be around, now that I'm looking for him. "If it is so urgent, it seems it might be worth postponing the usual customs for accepting a new initiate. Aela, are you willing to keep an eye on our would-be Initiate?"

"Harbinger," Vilkas interrupts, "surely you don't mean to ignore our customs for this boy!"

"Not at all." Kodlak answers patiently. "The proper rites will be observed once they return. Until then, we must keep priorities in order." He looks again at Aela.

She in turn takes a last few bites of her meal before addressing me. "Gather what supplies you need and meet me at the city gates. Do not keep me waiting." With that, she takes an apple from the table and heads downstairs into the living quarters, I assume to pack.

Vilkas does not look happy. "The fee will be 200 gold, outsider." Yeah, not happy at all.

Could have gone worse.

-(-)-

"Well, you got better at this, at least." Aela comments over the corpses of the wolves. "Still don't know how to skin your kills though, I bet."

With a gulp, I shake my head 'no'.

"It's not too complicated." She tells me, pulling out a knife and flipping it in her hand pointlessly. "It's more about having a deft touch."

_Oh gods..._

"Niiiiice... eeeeeeeven cuts..."

_Hurp!_

"Remember to separate the groin first, like this."

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" I ask trying to hold in my breakfast.

"Maybe."

-(-)-

A/N: I'm sure everyone will start being nicer to me when I invite them all to a dragonslaying. Who could say no to that?

Alright. Not going to drag this out. Fandom Flux youtube channel plug. Podcasts, Let's Plays, other fun stuff.

Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

"Riverwood is a good day's journey from here. We will stop there to rest before we head for Bleak Falls." Aela informs me as continue on the road leading to Riverwood along the river. Our little impromptu lesson on the proper way to neuter wolves post-mortem long behind us.

Apparently she's in charge now which rankles a little for... some reason. _Shouldn't_ she be in charge? I mean I'm supposed to be a new member of her organisation, she knows more about the area than me, she fights better than me and she's here expressly to keep me safe so I should follow her advice. So why is it bothering me so much to follow her lead?

Whatever the reason for my irritation, I swallow it and nod. "Sounds good. Bleak Falls is only, what, a couple hours walk away from Riverwood? Better to get there rested if we have the chance."

She nods approvingly at my logic. "You're expecting resistance in the Barrow?"

I nod. "Draugr mostly. Though with the place being underground, those monster spiders you have up here wouldn't surprise me."

"Frostbite spiders?" she asks. "Yes, that would make sense. Many of the old burial tombs are almost as old as the Companions. In all that time, I imagine more than a few of the pests made their homes inside them."

We lapse into silence as we keep walking the path.

"So why you?" Aela asks me out of the blue.

Well she could be asking a dozen different questions there. "Care to be more specific?"

"Why you, here, going to raid an ancient tomb? Why did they send you?" she clarifies.

"Oh. That would be the Court Wizard, Farengar's fault." I explain. "Any way you look at it, he would be the better option. A more capable mage, knows the area better, knows more about the tomb and its defenses..."

"And the reason he is not here and you are is...?"

My lip curls involuntarily. "He's not expendable. I am."

She stares at me, blinking heavily. Before "Pff-ff-ff-ff" Oh, come on! "Pffhahahaha!"

She continues laughing in my face for a good few seconds. "You done?"

"Aha-haha! Yes, I think so. So you were sent on this urgent mission because he doesn't care if you die?" she asks, a few burbles of laughter escaping regardless of how 'done' she is.

"Basically." I answer. "After speaking with the Jarl he bade me work for Farengar helping with his research into dragons. The bastard took one look at the baby-face thing I have going on and decided I _couldn't possibly_ be a scholar of any worth. Instead he made me a glorified chore-boy."

"Hm. The Companions prefer to _prove_ our initiates as incompetent first. He sounds an ass. But at least he had the sense to pay for your protection while on the roads." Aela tried to reassure me.

Unfortunately... "Not so much. I'm paying the Companions out of my own pocket." I admit.

"I see." She frowns. "A fool _and_ an ass, then."

"You'll get no argument from me."

-(-)-

Camilla Valerius is hot.

… That sentence could probably use some context.

So after getting a proper night's rest at the Sleeping Giant Inn (and doing my best to keep a neutral expression when talking to Delphine), Aela and I stocked up on supplies at the Riverwood Trader. Surprise surprise, the Valerius siblings were arguing over the missing Golden Claw. As Aela dealt with Lu... something or other, I wasn't paying attention. As Aela bought supplies from him, I asked Camilla about the whole Claw thing. Unlike Lulu, she was more willing to let go of the claw and not waste more money on hiring people to find it. Well, that's rather fine by me since I both kind of need it and also want it so I can make a display for all of them as I find them. It _always_ bothered me when Ludwig makes a big deal about getting it back and then slaps it on the counter like a particularly shiny paperweight. What I'll probably do is come back some time down the line, tell them I found it and offer to buy it. Until then, they're SOL.

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah. Pretty girl.

So turns out Camilla isn't _just_ the sister of the nobjockey that asks you to fetch the claw. She's also the focal point of that love triangle quest in Riverwood. Never did it myself so I thought it was some other character. Seeing her in person it isn't surprising at all that she's the kind of woman men will fight over. Because _daaaamn!_

_A_pparently I wasn't getting a choice to do the quest here as Faendal decided to rock up to me and ask a favour, that I deliver a letter to Camilla and tell her Sven wrote it. Thanks to knowing how this quest works, I know both are the same kind of deceitful prick and that I don't want to help either. So I head into the inn, show Sven the fake letter and ask him if he's willing to let Faendal get away with that.

Turns out Sven isn't the brightest bulb and doesn't question whether my problem is with Faendal or what he was doing. He just assumes I hate the guy as much as Sven does. That being the case he offers to pay me for a little turnabout, taking Faendal's plan and reversing it, giving Camilla a fake letter from _him_ instead.

Thus armed with evidence of both idiots' arseholery, I give both letters to Camilla and inform her of their 'cunning' plans. Realising that both of her would-be lovers are dicks, she decides she's done with both of them, thanking me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

It was a nice moment, and pretty much my good deed for the day.

Did me no favours with Aela though. Patience isn't her strong suit outside of a hunt, I guess. As soon as that was all sorted, taking about half an hour, we headed out of Riverwood and towards the nearby mountain and Bleak Falls Barrow.

-(-)-

"Tell me what you see."

"Rocks, snow, big ol' stone building." I answered gilbly.

Aela had led the way towards the barrow, guiding me up the rather steep slopes and avoiding the overrun watchtower manned by bandits. We were stood on the hill overlooking Bleak Falls Barrow. She had done this little test a few times, asking what I saw and then telling me what I should have seen. I'm starting to suspect poor eyesight is something of a rarity because she doesn't seem to get that my reliable sight range is about 10 feet, give or take. So, as usually happens when people expect me to see as well as them, I get a little snarky.

It gets annoying being reminded of your limitations every few minutes.

She openly sneers at my tone. "There are three. One on the overlook to the left with a crossbow. One with a longbow patrolling behind the stairs. One with an axe just outside the doors."

"Sounds about right." Crossbow, huh? Dawnguard is a thing then. "Alright. The crossbow has a greater range and could pick us off. Are you good enough with your bow to hit him from here?" She gives me the most mocking flat look I've ever seen. "Right. I'll send a distraction. While they're dealing with it you should have a clear shot. After that, I'll follow and keep them busy while you pick off the archer. Then I can freeze the last guy to death."

"You're confident for a blind man." Aela mocked.

She's the first person to refer to me as a man since I got here so I take the insult with a smile. "Even an incompetent mage can take down one meathead bandit." I tell her, rolling my eyes and casting my preparatory spell. Even if she doesn't agree with my plan, I'll need it.

"Alright. We'll go with your plan. Don't die stupidly."

I tilt my head in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, I cast my second spell. Conjure Familiar. The most basic conjuration spell, summoning a spectral animal companion, in this case, a wolf. And if I had to guess, always a wolf. Real talk, if it gave you a specific animal based on what kind of person you are, it wouldn't be giving me a wolf. A sloth, probably. Or some kind of particularly lazy snail.

Regardless of what the spell, should be giving me, the spirit wolf I conjured looks at me dopily. I peek out behind the rock we're facing, point at the bandits on the barrow entrance and say "Kill!".

Wolfy responds by sniffing my arm, then tugs on my sleeve.

It thinks it's a game.

… Stop laughing at me, Aela.

"Alright. Change of plans. _Please_ kill that crossbowman as quickly as possible." And with that as my parting words, I drag man's best and stupidest friend out from behind our cover and start running down the hill towards the stairs. Over the sounds of the snow I hear a telltale 'fwip' followed by a masculine grunt of pain.

I realise with a grimace that Aela could have killed that guy at any time and my distraction was entirely pointless.

… Whatever. The other two still need dealing with.

As we reach the bottom of the stairs I see the other archer peek out from behind the pillars at the top, having taken cover after the other one dropped.

Wolfy starts to growl. Oh, _now_ he gets it. "Kill!" I bark and he responds in kind, barking and growling as he bounds up the stairs several at a time and launches himself at the archer. I mentally prepare frost spells in my hands as I make it halfway up.

Wolfy stays close in to the archer as he tries desperately to fend the spirit animal off with a dagger. As I near them, I start spewing frost from my left hand to drive him out of cover. Or at least, that's how it looks. Ice element spells are odd in that while they look like creating an elemental attack, they're actually just drawing heat energy out of something. In the case of the most basic, out of the air in a cone a few feet from the caster's hand. To me it seems the simplest of the three basic elements and the safest for the caster. Fire will always burn, electricity can shock the caster. Drawing latent heat energy means you can continue manipulating it. Everything around me might be freezing but I'm experiencing a balmy 18 degrees right now.

… Incidentally. Centigrade, motherfuckers. Learn it, live it, love it.

The archer is still conscious of the fact that there's an enemy archer about but with Wolfy in front of him and me coming up on his side, he has no choice but to try to move to different cover.

It doesn't work out for him. Without warning, an arrow sprouts from his throat.

Aela is terrifyingly good with that bow.

Turning back the other way I see the axe-wielder staying in the cover of the entryway, not willing to give Aela a shot. Fine by me. I said I could take down a meathead bandit and I meant it. Wolfy charges at him while I take a more cautious pace, forming one of my stronger spells as I go. The wolf's charge ends in pain as it leaps at the man who retaliates with a perfectly timed swing of his axe, batting the conjured wolf away. Not to be deterred, Wolfy gets right back up and starts cautiously snapping at the bandit, looking for a good opening. The bandit is clearly used to dealing with wolves, barely flinching from the snapping jaws he clearly sees it as more a nuisance than threat.

Instead, he's focusing more on me. And that's bad. Because there is no way I could hide what I'm doing. The large ice spear I'm forming is very visible and I know from experience that throwing it is incredibly telegraphed. Fortunately for me, I can do more than this. There are three steps to the ice spike spell. One: Drawing water out of the air (partially in the form of snow, in this case) and shaping it vaguely into a spear. Two: Draw latent heat out of the water to flash freeze it. Three: Telekinetically fire the ice spike at the opponent.

Yes. This isn't a game. So you need to know Telekinesis to cast this spell. It being one of the most useful spells in existence, Farengar made sure to teach it to me.

But to get back to the point. What if one were to follow the first two steps of the Ice Spike spell, but hold off on the third? Well you end up with an ice spike being levitated in place waiting to be launched.

So perhaps, I had thought while training, what if I made a second while holding the first?

Now let's be clear. One-handed casting is the norm in the game and two-handed makes more powerful spells. Worked as a balancing mechanic as a trade-off for not having something more useful in your off hand. Not so, in practice. Two-handed makes for more stable spell-casting. _One_-handed is more advanced. In truth, I can't cast an Ice Spike one-handed. Not really. Which makes the whole "hold the Ice Spike in one hand and make another" thing I went for kind of difficult.

Farengar congratulated me on figuring out the trick to a Master level spell though. Make a thousand spikes and have them fly around you. "It's not a Master spell because it's obscure." he'd said, "It's Master level because it's hard as frozen balls to cast."

I digress again. So I can't quite make two ice spikes at once, but I can make one and then another bastardised one. Can't quite get the shaping down one-handed. And so my first original spell, the "Freezing Fastball" was born.

Basically, I chuck a spiky, densely packed iceball. Not exactly glamourous but fuck off it's my first spell creation! I'm proud, dammit!

So that's where I am now. Fully formed ice spike levitating over my left hand, fastball forming on my right hand.

Wolfy is still distracting him.

I launch the ice spike at the bandit, it cuts through the air, then through flesh as it rams into his _holy shit_ it went through his axe hand! The axe drops out of his now limp grip, cutting a gash in his left arm on the way down.

Okay. I was _not_ aiming for that but I'm totally going to tell Aela that I was.

I move to throw my Fastball but turns out it was entirely pointless. As soon as the bandit shows weakness, Wolfy goes for the throat. Literally. My spectral wolf familiar just ripped out a man's throat. You starting to see my point about it not matching me at all? With no need for it, I drop the ice ball. Looking at where Aela was I see a person I have to assume is her walking towards the Barrow.

Well... Guess all that's left is to get through this place, right?

-(-)-

A/N: Huh. Finally finished this one up. Been sitting on my hard drive at 1800 words for weeks. Happens sometimes. I end up with a pile of almost finished chapters and end up releasing them in a burst. 'S what happened with the last FES chapter. Anyway, done now.

Yeah, magic doesn't work the same as in canon but that's the only way it makes sense to me. There is no way I can logic casting a spell with one hand being easier than two (with the possible exception of the novice destruction spells but even then it might be a case of anyone can do it with one or both hands, but both would be more powerful _and_ efficient for beginners). So think of that perk tree as inverted (if you must think of this in perk terms), anyone can do two-hand, one-hand requires a perk to do well.

Fandom Flux. Podcasts, Let's Plays. We just started a new one playing a game about having spiritual hand-sex with girls to make babies that will fight in dungeons. It's like Binding of Isaac meets Huniepop meets Persona 3 / 4.

… Okay, it's not _really_ like that, but anyway, check it out if you're interested.

Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Before I even get inside the Barrow I can hear Aela shooting someone. She had decided to go ahead of me and clear the way. Can't fault her logic. There's a good chance those inside heard the commotion out here and prepared an ambush. Hell, given the inside doesn't exist in a separate world in this circumstance, they might very well have done that.

I barely hear another two thwips of a loosed arrow before quiet sets in. An arm reaches through the ajar door and waves me through.

Stepping through the doorway I instantly feel the gratifying comfort of going from 'holy frozen balls' cold to 'British winter' cold.

For those not aware, that's still kind of cold but a fair improvement.

"Coast is clear?" I ask quietly.

Aela looks perplexed.

… _Oh!_ "I mean are there any enemies around." I clarify.

Aela shakes her head slightly. "They didn't set an ambush. Even if there are more we can catch them unaware." Conversation is over and she's moving ahead again, passing the bonfire the bandits had going and heading towards the passage at the back.

I follow as stealthily as I'm able, which is to say, using the Muffle spell and creeping like a cartoon character. I surreptitiously draw some heat from the bonfire and suffuse myself with it.

Magic is fucking awesome I love it so much _dear god that feels good_.

I tiptoe faster to catch up with Aela and manage it just in time for her to stop and watch a bandit try to bypass one of the tomb's traps. Unsuccessfully.

His grunting, gurgling death was unpleasant to hear every time it echoed off the walls.

"So." I say at normal speaking volume. "No more enemies then. Or that door would be open."

Aela waits a beat and I realise she's waiting to see if I made a cock-up by speaking up. "So it would seem."

"Great!" I exclaim. "That gives us a valuable opportunity!" At her blank expression I clarify. "First, let's get a bit more comfortable at the bonfire. Second, let's take everything worth taking from these fucknuggets. Third, I need to tell you a little about how these tombs are protected. And as you just saw, they are still _very much_ protected."

"You should show more respect for the dead." Aela chides.

"This that Nord culture rearing up?" I ask, rhetorical even though I don't actually know. I know certain races don't give much of a shit about the dead. Aren't Nords supposed to be Norse? As in Vikings? Respect for the dead seems a weird thing for them to have, at least where enemy combatants are concerned. "Sorry. I show the same respect for the dead as they showed me in life. Or I _would_ but these fuckers tried to kill us as soon as they saw us. So by that metric I'm actually being nice by comparison."

"They didn't attack us. _We_ attacked _them_." Aela corrects me.

… Oh, shit we did, didn't we? "W-well I mean... They would have? You said they were bandits and, uh... Well, shit. This province is doing terrible things to my sense of morality. Now is not the best time to be invoking a crisis of conscience in me, Aela!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm fairly certain they fed a couple of their companions to skeevers." she divulges before waving off the topic. "Enough of that. What kind of defenses should we expect?"

"Like I said, if we're having that conversation we're having it somewhere comfortable." I say, walking away back towards the bonfire.

As Aela opts to take a rest on one of the bedrolls, I move around the new corpses, suddenly realising I'm about to loot dead bodies.

Right. Not a game. No simple and clean menus to do it for me. Just... Just don't think about it too hard.

To keep my mind off of my task as much as possible I start to tell Aela some of what to expect from our time here. Mostly how to deal with draugr and skeletons since dealing with the traps will be more my purview.

"So the head is the weak point?" Aela asks.

"The head is almost always the weak point. For anything." I answer. "But for a draugr it's more like any of the other usual weak points aren't valid. Heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, larynx, jugular, spine, none of those will really do much." Wait, did I almost quote Zabuza there? "Most of those weaknesses are to end a life. A draugr isn't alive. Spine is more of a maybe but that depends on if the draugr is animated purely through magical means or is piggybacking off of the nervous system already in place. Not a gamble worth taking when you could just destroy the brain and be done with it."

"You know a great deal about the undead." Aela remarks with a slight undercurrent of recrimination. "Was this also part of your training? Are you also a necromancer?"

I grimace. This topic is really not helping to keep my mind distracted from what I'm doing. "There was... a point in my training when Farengar had me visit the Hall of the Dead. It was... the most _efficient_ method for me to study the human body for learning Restoration – healing spells – and... the basics of Nord burial methods. My understanding is the Nord methods actually make for more capable undead. The flesh is dried and hardened so as to prevent decay and..." A forceful shudder runs through me and I realise I can't keep talking about this. "Let's just say my education was comprehensive and leave it at that."

"At least you show distaste for the field." Aela commented.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "It takes dedication to the practice for it to be worthwhile. And the end result of that is... Well you dedicate your life to desecrating the dead. I just don't see how that would be an appealing prospect for anyone."

I snort in realisation. "Well, I can talk down about it all I like but we're standing in a place practically dedicated to the craft. The draugr and skeletons have guarded this place for over a thousand years and I dare say they'll continue to do so. Even after there's nothing here to guard. You'd never see a daedra willing to agree to those terms."

Aela seems to mull that over for a few seconds before deciding to move on. "Skeletons, then?"

I purse my lips in thought before spotting one of the bandits' weapons. "How are you with a mace?"

"Nowhere near as good as with my bow." she responds.

"Well," I grunt, lightly tossing the mace in her general direction. "Best to keep that handy anyway. Since your bow will be practically useless against a skeleton. They are _always_ pure magic animation. Instead of using the brain as the focal point, it's the skull. And a skull is a lot more difficult to break. And by break, I mean into multiple pieces. Break its bones, that's how you destroy a skeleton."

"Why not just scatter them?" Aela asks. "They aren't attached so it can't be that difficult."

"You'd be surprised. Let me try and explain in a way that... Okay. For us, breathing is instinctive. It's just something we do to stay alive. We can stop for a time, but eventually our instincts take over again and we keep breathing. The equivalent for a skeleton is 'my pieces will stay connected'. It's coded into the animation magics. So if you scatter them, they might decide to stay scattered – to hold their breath – for a time. But eventually, they'll reconnect, stand up, figuratively dust themselves off and get back to trying to kill you. I don't need to tell you why that's even more dangerous."

She rests her forehead on her hand. "How much did Vilkas charge you again?"

"200 Septims, I think. Oh, and pledging my service, if that counts."

"You got off cheap."

-(-)-

This place is officially annoying.

You know, quite frankly, I had expected the spinning panel puzzle to be more complicated here. Nnnnnope. Three stones, three panels each, total of 27 solutions. And it gives you two of the answers. Three possible solutions. And if you're not braindead it gives you the third answer too.

I'd say why bother but... Well, maybe they want to make sure whoever gets in is intelligent? Trying to limit the number of spiders that get in? Keep out random rampaging frost trolls?

… Huh. Guess that makes this poor schmuck as dumb as a troll. That has to sting.

More tomb. Ooh! A copy of Thief! Nice! Wonder how it got here.

Down a rickety spiral staircase, stomp on the skeevers that get in the way. Grubby little bastards. Honestly, regular rats are more threatening. Regular rats are harder to spot. Little bastards bite you, you get the plague or something. Skeevers? Big fuckers. Pick 'em up with telekinesis and launch 'em at each other. Satisfying.

Annnnnd now we're at the part of this that I was dreading more than anything else. And judging by her expression, Aela isn't too thrilled either.

That is a _lot_ of spider web.

I raise a small, dancing flame on my fingertip. "Want me to light it up?" I ask lowly.

Aela is considering it.

"Is that you Hogvir?! Bjorn?!"

Aela cringes. I make the flame a little bigger and put on a pleading expression. She looks unhappy about it, but shakes her head all the same.

I sigh deeply. I just know this is going to suck _so_ bad. Raising my arm, I start telekinetically ripping at the webbing blocking our path, trying to plan my attack as I work.

So. Giant spider. _Big. Fuck-off. Spider._ Fire is out because apparently badass hunter werewolf Aela decided to be a bleeding heart. I mean yeah, I'll feel terrible as that guy dies in one of the most painful ways I can think of but... _Ten-foot tall spider!_ My survival instinct is screaming at me to kill the thing with the thing I know will kill it!

Whatever. Focus. Doing things the hard way. If Aela wants to struggle for this guy's sake she can take point.

… With a bow.

… Fuck.

Okay. We can both go ranged. That's fine. Hm. Frostbite spider implies it doesn't much care about cold. Fire is obviously out. Which leaves... Electric. For which I only know Sparks. Which has a range of about ten feet.

… _Fuuuuuuuck_.

No! Okay okay okay, it's _o-kay_. Just do what you did last time! Oakflesh and summon Wolfy. He can distract it and I'll shove lightning up in the bastard while Aela turns it into a pincushion.

With a downwards tearing motion, I pull the last of the webbing down from the entryway. Motioning Aela to wait, I repeat my basic prep combination. My skin turns wooden and a spectral wolf appears in our midst.

I take a centering breath and give Aela a jerking nod.

She starts creeping forward, Wolfy and I following closely. As she reaches the archway she raises her hand to stop us. I lean low to see under the arch and I see a silhouette of the thing above us. It's a good twenty or thirty feet up and yet it's still _frigging enormous_. I try to suppress it but I can't fight back the full-body shudder that passes through me. I _really_ don't want to fight that.

But I don't really have a choice.

Aela nocks an arrow.

Draw.

Loose.

The arrow soars skyward and strikes home. The keening, chittering screech leaving no doubts as to its effectiveness. With all the grace allowed by its gargantuan mass, the giant frostbite spider drops to the floor, flaring its mandibles.

Wolfy charges at it.

I follow, trying to stay out of Aela's line of sight as I move around to the spider's side.

As I prepare Sparks in both hands I hear a crunch, a yelp of pain and a telltale whoosh of displaced magicka.

Well. There goes Wolfy.

…

_FUUUUUUUCK_!

Distraction gone, I give up my measured movement and switch to sprinting as I launch volleys of lightning from my hands. The monster tries to turn and disable the new threat but it's too big to move that quickly, turning as fast as I'm running around it.

Then it gives up. And just moves in the direction my attacks are coming from. I dive backwards to escape one of it's enormous legs and end up backed against the wall. Have to move or it'll crush m-

Mm?

Mm-mm!

This is really strong webbing! That spider is truly impressive _fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!_

_FUCK IT!_

_BURN EVERYTHING!_

Twin jets of magic-induced fire spew from my hands directly into the spider's left legs and the body beyond them. The chittering screech of agony is back but it feels so much more satisfying to hear this time. The fire seems to have ignited the spider's hair and is spreading. It starts slamming into the walls to put the flames out but it doesn't...

It... doesn't...

Why aren't the webs burning?

… This can't be real. Spider webs don't burn? Spider webs don't burn. Spider webs... fucking _melt!_ I've been fighting this thing for the past thirty seconds, experiencing the most pants-shitting terror I've felt bar _Alduin_, and I could've had it dead in _ten seconds?!_

"_GYAAAAAAAAAARGH!" I scream as I pour as much fire onto the fucking spider bastard as I can. It's clearly in its death throes but I don't fucking care. Fuck Skyrim, Fuck Sheogorath, Fuck Alduin and Fuck My Fucking Life!_

Aela comes forward as I'm panting for breath, glaring daggers at the giant spider corpse, daring it to come back to life. "So." I say. Attempting a conversational tone. And failing. "Spider webs don't burn."

"It would seem not." Aela agrees adopting what I figure is a calming voice. "I admit I was under that impression as well."

"Spider webs don't burn. Spiders do."

"I'm sure we will tell this tale back at Jorrvaskr and laugh."

"Hahahaha... Why wait? … Hahahaha... Ha..."

"Err, sorry to interrupt but," a voice pipes up from behind me, "could you maybe get me down from here?"

-(-)-

A/N: I had... _so _much fun writing that spider scene. As soon as I realised how freaked out I was at the thought of actually seeing the giant frostbite in real life, I knew that this whole fight was going to end in me having a mini mental breakdown. It was _delicious_.

Incidentally, RichaadEB's Arachnophilia (aka: the metal cover of Spider Dance from the Undertale OST) started playing while I was writing it. Because of course it did.

Fandom Flux is still a thing. You know the drill.

Thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

"So... Run this by me again."

I've had a long day.

Handled some nonsense love triangle crap, climbed a mountain, killed a man entirely on my own for the first time, got bit by a skeever and had to fight a spider taller than I am and had a mental breakdown as a result.

"You're hanging in a web, about to be eaten by a frostbite spider. As an aside, spiders have a nasty way to eat someone. They wrap their victim up in a cocoon of webbing and inject them with a venom that dissolves the organs. Then they drink the person. Like mead."

The idiot whimpers, whether from what I'm telling him or the arrow Aela put in his ankle, I can't tell.

After my day, I think I needed this on some level.

"But before such a grisly fate befalls _you_, a dashing mage and his beautiful and deadly companion swoop in to save the day and your gangly arse. Huzzah! Am I right?"

"Please don't kill me."

"Acknowledging your noble saviours, you offer them the artifact you stole in exchange for safe passage out of this tomb. They could easily have just killed you and taken it if they so desired, but they elect to be magnanimous and cut you down from the webbing."

"Magna-what?"

"But then – and let me be clear, this is the part I'm struggling with – when they cut you down, you run away! And even worse than the fact that you ran away and double-crossed the people that killed your entire gang – because again, to be clear, that was stupid on it's own – you not only ran away, you ran _in the wrong direction!_ Instead of going for the exit, you ran further into the tomb! Towards a dead end! A dead end that based on your journal – riveting stuff, by the way – you knew was there! So really, I just want to understand. Now, I think we've proven ourselves kind-hearted people today. Don't you think so, Aela?

The only response I get is a queer look and an articulate eyebrow raise.

"So here's the deal. I'm going to let you go! Aren't I nice? I'll let you go, even fix up your ankle a little so you can hobble on out of here. As soon as you tell me what exactly your plan was."

"... Err..."

"I mean, you must have had one. All that time talking to us while you were in that web. Telling us all about the claw and how you'd give it to us. I mean to go against the deal _you_ proposed, one where you would walk away alive. You _must_ have had a plan, right?"

"... I, err... I was going to find a place to hide and double back?"

I look from him, to the other draugr corpses strewn around us that he woke up and that we had to fight off, then back to him. "Yeah, no." SHINK.

Idiot.

I watch the dark elf Arvel gurgle away his last breaths. Mostly because I feel like I should. Nord culture has changed me in a lot of ways and I don't think I like most of them. Still, I decided that after everything I learned about him that he deserved to die. What I knew from him being here, what I found in his journal...

In days like this, people like him...

…

As Arvel stills and his eyes go vacant, I stand to my full height and look around at the space where Aela and I find ourselves. We've reached the mausoleum area. Or in this case maybe 'guard barracks' might be more accurate. "Okay. So we barrelled into this room and woke everything up. We don't need to do that again. So here's the plan. Every time you see a corpse, put an arrow in it's brain. Sound good?"

"If you'll make me waste that many arrows, you can retrieve them."

Sounds fair.

-(-)-

So to summarise the last thirty minutes of my life, there was a lot of putting arrows in heads then subsequently taking them out, there was a lot of roasting draugr in conveniently oil-soaked hallways and there was a lot of sabotaging pendulum axe traps. Because why _wouldn't_ you just break them?

Also found another rare book. It's dry and boring and utterly inconsequential to what's going on right now but... Well, I was a collector in the game. That hasn't gone away.

Anyway, with all that crap out of the way I can finally take my time and really look at the Hall of Stories for the first time. This repository for stories told thousands of years ago.

"Do you know what this room is?" I asked Aela, my voice surprisingly solemn even to my own ears.

"... No." Aela answered. "Though I get the feeling you believe it important."

"The, ah," I clear my throat a little. "The Dawn Era is basically an unknown to most. It's a time of Gods and Chaos. Us little people don't know much about it and a vast majority never will. The history we _do_ learn of that era comes from the Aedra and Daedra and... Well, I will never trust either group to speak inconvenient truths. There's a fog over that age and all we can determine is based on what came after.

The Merethic Era or Mythic Era if you prefer, on the other hand, we have some knowledge. Tales passed down through the ages. The odd once-a-century find of an ancient record or scripture written on something a little sturdier than parchment. And of course, again, the Aedra and Daedra sticking their godlike oars in.

And then, we have things like this. The Hall of Stories! Carved by those who lived it, those ancient tales and legends given shape and truth!"

"Aren't you being a little dramatic?" Aela asks, deadpan.

I nod my head sharply. "Absolutely. It's in my nature. But that doesn't make this less important."

"Please. We all know the stories from this era. What can this provide that we don't already know?"

I give her a look of bafflement. "Are you joking? Do you know how much I've found out about the Dragon War in all the time I've been researching? It's not a lot, I can tell you that much. But here?" I ask rhetorically, waving an arm at a wall before walking over to it. "Here." I say, pointing out a specific section showing a man in a mask standing tall over a crowd of draugr. "A Dragon Priest. The Dragons were worshipped by humans in the Merethic era and that worship was led by these priests. Here." I point to another set of carvings. "The Dragon Priest taking a tithe from a settlement without resistance. Food. Gold. People. Then that tithe is presented to the dragon... And it burns it all to cinders and slag. The dragon doesn't need any of it. It's a ritual of submission. But the people gave it freely anyway because there was no other option."

Aela stays silent for a time, so I figure I'll let her be and keep looking through the carvings. It's actually interesting stuff! "So what changed?", she asks eventually.

"Ahh," I vocalise as I move quicker through the carvings looking for an answer. "Ahh, bah, bah, here! Look look look, okay so the dragons were basically unkillable. Then there's this Dragon Priest, but his mask is a little different. And somehow he uses the same power the dragons are using. I'm going to guess that's the Thu'um, the Voice. Anyway, it looks like he wins a bout with a dragon and draws power from it, leaving it a dessicated husk."

"The first Dragonborn." Aela nods in understanding before stopping mid-movement. "Wait, the first Dragonborn worshipped the dragons? What changed his mind?"

I look at the nearby carvings but there's nothing about that. "It doesn't say. Which I assume means the people who carved this didn't know either. We might never find out. Looks like it doesn't matter though. His rebellion was unsuccessful. The dragons stormed his stronghold and killed him. Unfortunately for them it seems the damage was already done and other humans learned the Voice. Then... I'm going to guess the humans won because the next carving is the Dragon Priests laying themselves to rest."

"They left that part out?" Aela questioned.

"I'm going to guess this place was built by the dragon cult. There's a lot of space given to the Dragonborn's defeat, and not much for the time he killed a dragon. I doubt they want to depict the time they got a boot to the figurative backside."

"Alright." She says, putting her hands up. "Consider me convinced. If you want to spend some time here, that's fine."

"Well, not much point now, really." I say, pointing to the carving of the Priests in coffins. And the flat wall next to it. "That was the last one."

"What about the other wall?" she asks.

"Earlier history of the dragon cult." I tell her, moving to the other wall. "Lots of spreading the word, slaughtering people, that kind of thing." … Oh? Why hello there. "You might find this one interesting, though."

I point to the carving I mean and Aela walks over and peers at it. Seconds later she bursts out laughing.

The carving is a depiction of approximately 500 people standing before a great bear of a man with a very distinctive battleaxe in his hand.

I decide not to point out that that means Ysgrammor was probably a dragon cultist and instead move to look at the lock puzzle on the door.

Pulling the golden claw out of my pack I look at it. I really need to find a way to keep this thing. Sliding the rings around with surprising ease to match the code on the claw, I insert it into the lock. The rings spin of their own accord to each show a dragon emblem and the whole door recedes into the floor with the rumble of literally ancient machinery.

"Well?" I ask Aela who's attention was gained by the noisy, overly complicated door. "Shall we?"

As we step into the cavernous final chamber there's a tangible change in the air. After spending hours traipsing through musty corridors thick with the stench of decay, something that isn't quite but somewhat resembles fresh air is a sweet relief. Unlike the brown, stone tomb bathed in orange torchlight, this room is a hollowed out cave, the stones coated in the green of moss. Natural light filters in through cracks in the ceiling, orange shapes littering the ground borne of what is likely sunset outside.

It's beautiful.

Then a flock of bats buzz my head and the moment is ruined.

"What _is_ that?" Aela asks, pointing at the semicircular stone wall ahead of and above us.

"It's a memorial. Written In the dragon language." I explain as we walk up the steps towards it. "That's about all I know about them. There's a few dotting the landscape that scholars have tried to translate but... Well, the only people who _really_ know the language nowadays are the Greybeards. And they aren't keen to help." I point at the markings on the wall as we get closer. "See the patterns and shapes? The letters are shaped in such a way that a dragon can draw them with its claws."

"Huh." is her articulate response. Well it was interesting to _me_. "So is this where that thing you were after is?"

"Should be." I answer, looking around, on the table, in the nearby chest filled with _raw gold are you serious_\- nono, not important right now. No Dragonstone here either.

…

… It's in the coffin isn't it?

With a resigned sigh, I try to lift the lid of the coffin but it's either sealed tight or so heavy the effort would be beyond both of us put together. I'm assuming the former.

"Alright. Keep looking but keep an eye on that coffin. We've seen how those can just... Open... Sometimes..." I pantomime being distracted as I move towards the Word Wall.

Then I don't have to pretend anymore.

The chanting I expected. The pinpoint focus on the words I expected. It's more visceral but I expected that, too.

What I didn't expect was it to naturally translate in my head. Not just the Word, I was expecting. The whole thing.

"Here lies the Guardian.

Keeper of Dragonstone.

And a **force** of unending rage and darkness."

"I thought you said you couldn't translate it."

CRACK!

WHUMP!

"Fuuuus... RO'DAH!"

"Ugh!"

I feel a shockwave hit me, snapping me out of my daze but too late for me to do anything about it. My body is thrust forwards from behind, slamming my face directly into the Word Wall! I feel something break and blood start flowing down my face.

The Guardian woke up.

And I didn't do my setup. Stupid stupid stupid!

Trying to ignore the pain in my face I roll over from my slumped position and rush an Oakflesh spell. Then immediately roll the other way to dodge the giant glowing battleaxe coming down at me.

And I just realised I'm fighting a guy with an axe while my body is made of _wood_.

I scramble to try to get away, to gain some distance but I'm off-balance physically _and_ mentally and my movements show it. I'm stumbling to even stand, let alone run. I barely get to my feet and turn to face the Guardian and absently notice two arrows protruding from his neck and jaw, unfazed by both.

More prominently I notice he's still in melee range and taking a big swing at the guy that can't block it.

Hitting him with something isn't going to stop him and with how clumsy I am right now I can't dodge. Try something stupid time!

Raising my hands I concentrate on Telekinetically holding his swinging arms in place.

It works. A bit.

Instead of holding his arms in place I threw off his movements. Instead of using the cutting edge of the axe he hits me with the flat of it. I feel another bone break in my arm before the blow sends me off the platform.

I land on the dirt and rock below, pain lancing anew through my broken arm. I'm basically useless with only one so I have no choice but to try repairing it while the big guy is still up there. Taking a deep breath I focus Healing from my good arm.

_Okay. Analyse. Clean break. Set the pieces tog-ahhh-hahh! Set the p-p-pieces tog-gether... F-f-fuuuuse the fracture together._

I take deep, gasping breaths as I test the functionality of my right arm. It aches but it moves well enough. Forcing myself to my feet, I stumble a little as I move around the stairs to see what's going on.

It looks like Aela has been leading it on a merry chase around the cavern, taking shots when she can, attempting to cut off the Guardian's soul with a headshot. Seems the damn thing might be a little prescient because despite how good a shot she is, none of them have landed where she needed them to. Upside, it's been slowed down by the dozen arrows in its body, restricting its movements.

Right. She's got a better chance of getting a kill-shot. I'll play support. With a quick cast, Wolfy is on the field. Not even bothering to greet me, my familiar rushes at the most dangerous thing in the room, trying to tackle the large draugr to the ground from behind. Instead his only reward is a slight bowing of his torso before the bastard spins around and cleaves through Wolfy with a single swing of the battleaxe.

"Oh?" I ask. "Oh yeah? Have another one, then!" I challenge as I conjure another Wolfy immediately. The spectral wolf once again charges the thing and the Guardian again almost disinterestedly kills it.

But his attention is _alllll _on me now. I feel a pained smirk creep onto my face as blood continues to dribble down my chin from when he-

"Fuuuus..."

Did... That. Shit shit shit shit shit shi-

"RO'DAH!"

The wall of unrelenting force hits me again and I sail through the air screaming "FUUUUUUUUUU" all the way.

As I pick myself up off the ground I'm glad the only injury I got was from cracking my skull off of a rock. Nothing broke and the worst I got was a bump on m' noggin? I can live with that.

Hopefully.

I get to my feet again and immediately start searching for the Guardian again. Not seeing him, I panic and whirl around. Did he sneak behind me or-?

"Hey! Hey uh... Whatever your name is! It's dead." I hear Aela's voice say.

Turning to face the voice, I move in that direction and spot the fallen once-again corpse of the Guardian, a dozen arrows protruding from its body and one sticking out the back of its skull.

"Oh... Oh. Good. That's good. Are you injured at all?" I ask.

"Only in my pride from it taking this many arrows."

"Okay." I say, swallowing. "Cool. I'm, uh, I'm gonna... Fix my broken nose now then. Yeah."

I take a deep breath as I sit down, leaving Aela to look at the body. _Analyse. Minor tissue damage around the breakage. Set the – ow – set the p-pieces together..._

-(-)-

A/N: I haven't gotten hurt enough in this fic so far. Decided to fix that. Hope you don't mind.

That thing at the beginning is something that genuinely annoyed me about the game. Arvel knows you probably want to kill him since he runs with bandits. So he offers you a deal that you let him go. Whether you take this deal or not is irrelevant since it was still his best chance to get away alive. In fact, logically he's at your mercy in the web and you could kill him at any time (if the game would let you). That you cut him down means you agree to his deal. And then he reneges on it anyway! And runs further into the tomb! He doesn't know if there's an exit down there!

Bethesda writing. Railroad you into letting a guy go so he can double-cross you after. Uh-oh! Looks like he fooled you, player!

Jackasses.

Fandom Flux is a thing. We don't play Skyrim but we play other games. And the podcast has a bunch of experienced fanfic writers talking about good methods and such.

Thanks for reading.


	9. Chapter 9

"I'll not have it!"

"Lucan, please, be reasonable! At least hear what he has to say!"

"I'll not hear of it! That claw has been in our family for generations! I don't care _what_ he offers, I don't care if you want a roll with him, I'm not selling it!"

I glare at Aela as she stands just inside the door of the Riverwood Trader. She just shrugs at me. My frown deepens.

Miraculously, the Dragonstone, despite being on the body of the Guardian of Bleak Falls Barrow, was still intact. Because it's my responsibility, it's down to me to carry the bloody thing and it. Is. _Heavy._ So after having to repair my broken bones before we even left the Barrow, carrying this giant lump of stone has not helped my mood.

_Then, _Aela decided she wasn't going to stand idle while I knowingly walked away with the Valerius' property. The Golden Claw. And as a result, she needled me about it the entire walk back down the mountain.

Needless to say, my patience is hanging by a thread. And this fuckwit screaming in my face not ten seconds after I walk in the door has that thread fraying dangerously.

… Wait, what was that last thing he said?

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Camilla asked in a telltale rising tone, letting everyone in the room know Lucan just made a mistake. "Oh, right. That fancy ornament you found in the woods last year was a family heirloom passed down through our family? My mistake. I thought you were just talking out of your arse!"

Lucan clutches his head with both hands. "Aedra above, Camilla! Sometimes you can be so-!"

Ah, siblings.

… Dammit, I made myself sad.

"Fine! You know what? _Fine_. It's not an heirloom. But it's _mine_. And I'm not letting you take it from me. So here's what we're going to do." Lucan says, attempting a stern, intimidating demeanour. He's a muscly dude, so it would probably work if you discount what the rest of my day has consisted of. "You're going to return _my_ property. I'm going to pay you for your services. And then you'll kindly get the hell out of my store!"

I look at the irate shopkee- No, sod being polite. I look at the prick, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes deep breaths. Then I look at Aela who seems just as unintimidated as I am right now before she removes an arm from her folded posture and twirls a hand in a "get on with it" motion. I grimace, not wanting to do this as an opening offer. But needs must.

And for whatever reason – be it pride, sentimentality or just being a damned packrat – I need this claw.

I reach into my pack and as Lucan leans forward eagerly to see his claw returned, I pull an object out of my pack and place it on the counter with force.

An ingot. Solid gold.

Lucan's eyes light up when he sees it but suppresses the reaction quickly. "That's not my claw." he observes astutely.

"No. No it isn't." I agree.

"I want my claw." he says but without the vehemence he had before.

"So you don't want this?" I ask, putting my hand on the ingot.

"I didn't say that."

"Lucan..." Camilla starts but quiets when his eyes snap to her.

"I know." Lucan tells her before looking back at me. "That claw has significant value." he says, implying the gold isn't enough.

"It... really doesn't." I deny, pulling it out and holding it up for inspection. "It _had_ significant value, provided you know how to use it. Funnily enough, the thief did. Despite how stupid he turned out to be he did his due diligence and knew what he had. It was a key to the final chamber in Bleak Falls Barrow. A chamber which is now open. Permanently. Now? This," I say, putting the claw on the counter, "is a particularly fancy paperweight to anyone but me."

I take my hand off the claw and put it on the ingot instead. "Meanwhile this is an ingot of pure, solid gold. Aela, how much do you think this is worth?"

I don't turn to look at her as she speaks. "Not my area of expertise. Hundreds of septims on its own. Thousands if you collaborate with a good jewelcrafting smith. Maybe tens of thousands if you work with an enchanter on top of that."

"Wow." I say with theatrically raised eyebrows. "That's a lot of money."

"You've made your point."

I keep my eyes locked with Lucan's. Actually trickier than it sounds. My eyes naturally wobble side to side so it's hard to maintain eye contact. As a result I'm using a minor trick of alteration to keep them in place. It's _very_ uncomfortable, which is the only reason I don't do it all the time to give myself proper depth perception.

Eventually, Lucan looks away, looking at his choices sitting on the counter. I restrain myself from sighing in relief. After what felt like minutes of consideration, during which the only sound was the fireplace crackling, he pushes the claw towards me. "Take it. And go."

I nod, picking up the claw and putting it in my pack. "Pleasure doing business with you." I give what I hope is taken as a polite nod and follow Aela out of the shop, closing the door behind me.

"You only gave him one." Aela observes.

I roll my eyes. "It was barely _worth_ one, monetarily speaking. And that was _before_ it became a fancy paperweight. Now that that door is open it's either an ornament or a museum piece. I'd prefer it be the latter."

"No sympathy, then?" Aela probes. "No guilt for taking one of their family heirlooms?"

"It wasn't an heirloom. And even if it could have been..." I shrug. "I've never been enamoured with the concept of heirlooms. Passing things through the family for so long you forget why they have it in the first place? Mementos from those you've lost are one thing. Passing things down for the sake of it? What's the point?"

Aela cocks her head to the side as she studies me. "I think I'm starting to get a measure of you."

"Oh?" I say, prodding her to elaborate.

She doesn't take the bait. "Come. If we leave now we should make Whiterun by tomorrow's dusk."

-(-)-

"_Fucking wolves are god damn everywhere!_"

-(-)-

"Who's bright idea was it to build this city on a hill?" I pant, taking deep gulps of air to recover.

"We'll have to work on your stamina as part of your training." Aela observes as we cross the small bridge over the Whiterun waterway.

"And I suppose carrying fifty pounds of crap up a hill is a breeze for you." I deadpan before realising I'm an idiot. "Oh, right. You're a badass, it probably is. Sorry. It's... been a long couple of days. And thanks for taking some of the weight off my shoulders."

"Of course." Aela nods agreeably. "It was amusing to try out an enchanted weapon for a change." she adds, inspecting the ethereal glow of the Guardian's battleaxe.

"I intend to see if Farengar will show me how to recreate the enchantment. If I manage, I might be able to put one on something more your speed. How does the idea of ice arrows grab you?" I ask with what I hope is an enticing smirk.

"Hm. Well, that is a tempting thought." Aela admits. "Though I prefer to rely on my own skill over fancy toys. Are you not the same? You are a mage of passable skill... even If not experience. Yet you do not wield a staff."

I shake my head. "Staves are hard to come by. And even if that weren't the case, most of my spell repertoire requires two hands for me to cast. A staff would be too limiting."

Aela nods but doesn't comment, instead choosing to look out into the city in the direction of Jorrvaskr. "I shall go on ahead back to Jorrvaskr. You shall be fine returning to the foolish ass alone, yes?" I restrain a chuckle at realising that's just what she's going to call him now and nod. "Very well. Be sure to return to Jorrvaskr after you are done. You will need to meet with the Harbinger and properly observe the rites before you have truly jo-... _enlisted_ with us."

Why'd she-? Oh, right. She's the one that's actually down for the whole werewolf jazz. Makes sense she'd be particular about using the 'J' word. "I'll be seeing you later then."

She gives me a curt nod, leaving without saying another word.

Right. Time to go full bore on the ever-wonderful Feather spell.

-(-)-

"Oh, you have returned." Farengar... let's say 'greets' me as I traipse into the court wizard's study. I casually flick some flames at the hem of his robes. Through enchantment or not being particularly flammable, they don't catch. Phooey. "I take it you were successful."

I consider throwing the heavy stone tablet at the twazzock but think better of it. If anyone in this setting is a wuss, it's Farengar. He'd drop the bloody thing. Or get knocked over by it. Instead, I put it on his desk.

"Excellent!" Clasping his hands together, he sounds genuinely enthuse for once. "We must begin studying it while we still have it. An associate of mine will be coming to collect it in a few days. Did you..." he pauses for quite a while. Long enough I think he's second guessing what he was about to say. "Did you find anything else of note?"

"There was a Hall of Stories in the tomb. Just before the final chamber. It told the story of the first dragonborn, a dragon priest that turned his back on them."

"Fascinating." He's back to his disinterested tone. "... Anything else?"

I squint looking at him. "What are you fishing for?"

As though in answer, he moves around me towards the opening to the dining hall. Pulling a handle above it, he draws down the only privacy we're afforded, a curtain usually used to indicate delicate research is taking place. Thick, dark-brown fabric unfurls to the floor and spills across it a little. The curtain drawn he moves back behind his desk, opening one if the compartments he pulls out a distinctly worn book and places it in front of me on the desk next to the Dragonstone.

Dragon Language: Myth no More

"You recognise this book." the court wizard says. It isn't a question. "It took a while to get to us from the College. Urag is always so stingy with his collection even in times like these. I studied it myself before ever showing it to you. It is a... Well, it is a mockery of our research to be honest." There's a sneer of disgust on his face. "The author presents it as her own research into translating the dragon language. The way she presents it however is literally impossible. Assigning the Dragonic characters into Tamrielic? Based on what? No translation key was demonstrated! Stated as fact without evidence! Disgraceful! And it doesn't stop there! She then translates _that_ nonsense into full Tamrielic with no method! Either the author was a charlatan or she had... _help_."

I figure by 'help' he means making a deal with Hermaeus Mora. Still, "You're going somewhere with this?"

Farengar shakes his head to clear the anger. Honestly, I'm right there with him. We've been working on the same thing for _months_. To think someone cheated their way to success is galling. "Even if the work was a fraud, it did have untranslated examples of the dragon language. On a whim... I showed one to you to get your thoughts." Taking the book, he flips through the pages before stopping and presenting the open book to me.

_Ohhhh_. "You son of a bitch."

"I just wanted your opinion on the text! On the appearance of the dragon characters. I didn't expect, would _never_ have expected you to take the book and read that passage aloud in common Tamrielic! The translations aren't even on that page and you quoted them word for word! I had no idea what that could mean, well, aside from the book's information being legitimate."

"This is why you sent me to Bleak Falls. You knew I can read Dovahzul. That there would be a word wall there."

He looks away, slightly guilty before meeting my eyes again. "Not entirely. The Dragonstone did need to be retrieved. But... I needed to test my theory. I needed to _know_ for certain before we move on to... whatever comes next. So... I sent you somewhere that if I was right, it would matter. And if I was wrong?" He shrugged. "At least you would know the value of the knowledge there."

"And you didn't want me to say, take a couple of guards with me in case your theory was right and a clever soldier comes to the same conclusion. You think I'm him." At this point, feigning obliviousness has become a fun kind of roleplay for me.

"It would make the most sense." he said, sinking into his chair and steepling his hands. "You read the language as easily as breathing. Did you even notice you called it 'Dovahzul' just now? Besides, what did you call it at dinner that first day you were here? Divine providence? That you found a book in Helgen about Alduin during his attack? Seems it truly was providence. Not only did you find a book about Alduin during his attack, you, the Dragonborn found a book about the Dragonborn. The Divines loath subtlety, it seems."

I roll my eyes. Yeah. The 'Divines'. Sure. "Fine. Considering I could read the word wall and one of the words has been bouncing around my skull ever since, fair to say your theory might be correct. So? What's this 'whatever comes next'?"

"That... Would be finding ways for you to kill dragons."

-(-)-

A/N: I got stuck on the Farengar scene for a while (big surprise, I got stuck on the last scene of a chapter again). Mostly because I couldn't think of a way to make it interesting. I knew Delphine wouldn't be there but that would make the scene very flat. And a week or so ago, I came up with this. This is a story, not a videogame. _People have agency_. So Farengar figured it all out and had legit reasons for his seemingly stupid actions. SI me is suddenly feeling a little guilty for calling him an idiot so often. He's still an ass but disinterested drawl or not, he's an intelligent guy.

So yeah. Now we prepare to kill a dragon. Hooray!

Fandom Flux is a thing. Youtube channel. Podcasts. A review show for RWBY. Let's Plays (none ongoing but lots in the archives).

Thanks for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

The room is quiet. A meeting is taking place. It isn't private. With the location, it couldn't be private. The war room of Dragonsreach – for lack of a better term – is above and behind the Jarl's throne and there are no doors. Even so, the serving staff and guards are giving us all a wide berth. The table that previously held a map of Skyrim has been pulled into open space, the map replaced by a duplication of one of the wall carvings from Bleak Falls. The image of a dragon. One of the most accurate depictions we have. The chairs from the dining hall have been brought up by the servants. We expected this to be a long meeting and there's no cause for standing around for hours on end. Present is Jarl Balgruuf, his brother Hrongar, his housecarl Irileth, Commander Caius of the Whiterun Guard, Skjor of the Companions, Farengar and myself. Skjor is actually new to these meetings, brought in on my suggestion. The Companions might be free agents but they agree protecting their home is important enough to cooperate and get involved here.

The Battle-Borns and Gray-Manes were in one meeting. Three guesses how that went. They haven't been invited back since.

"We finally have a view of what we face." Balgruuf says in that ominous way of his.

Caius laughs awkwardly. "Like this, it doesn't look so threatening!"

I cock my head to one side as I inspect the drawing. "Well, you're not wrong. It looks more like the bastard offspring of a bat and a lizard than a world ending abomination to tell you the truth." Never was a fan of the connected wing and arm design.

At my attempt to lighten the mood I get a half-chuckle from Balgruuf and a sarcastic snort from Irileth for my trouble. Skjor on the other hand is giving me a contemplative look. Probably surprised how casual I am with literally the entire city leadership.

Save for Proventus. But nobody gives a shit about Proventus. He's downstairs listening to supplicants. We're pretty much just hoping he doesn't manage to sell the city by mistake while everyone else is busy.

"So what conclusions have you come to so far?" Skjor asks the group as a whole.

"As a starting point, we determined anyone wanting to fight a dragon will _need_ a ranged weapon of some kind." Aww, quoting me from the day we met. Irileth can be sweet sometimes. "With its ability to fly a dragon can avoid a melee for about as long as it wishes."

"That is debatable." Farengar cuts in. "We have been acting under the supposition that the dragon from Helgen would land for... What was that word you used?"

"Psychological warfare." I supply.

"Yes, that! That it would land in order to terrify its enemies. Attack their minds, then destroy them. It _could_ be though, that a dragon does need to rest from time to time and would land for that reason."

"The difference is academic." I cut off his conjecture, shaking my head. "Whether it's landing to scare people or to take a breather it will scare people _and_ still be able to kill after landing either way."

"Let's get back to the subject." suggests Balgruuf, taking control back from our digressions. "Ranged weapons are needed. Also we have determined that a dragon can kill from any direction. Large enough to bite a man in half when attacked from the front, not even mentioning their shouts. The spined and spaded tail from behind."

"Those wings seem the only obvious weakness when it is on the ground." Hrongar says, leaning over the table to study the image in detail. "How hardy would they be? Could they be crippled?"

"They'll be a membrane of skin. Hide." I say. "It's still part of a dragon so don't expect it to be easy but a sharp sword and strong arm could tear one. Likewise an arrow could puncture them."

"How do you know this?" Skjor asks.

I shrug. "Physics. Wings need to be lighter to offer any lift. If they're any sturdier than that they wouldn't be able to fly at all. Like... Here." I lean forward and point at the image and trace the skeleton of the wings. "You can see the outline of the bones in the wing but they're small. Thin. Light. And if they have any similarity to bird wings: hollow. Probably the most breakable bones on the thing."

Skjor grasps his chin in contemplation and tilts his head. Given the tacit approval of our wildlife expert, the group accepts my analysis as viable.

"So we weaken its wings in the air then cripple them on the ground. What then?" Irileth asks. "Even forced aground, how do we kill it? Getting close would be difficult even if that shouting business _isn't_ real."

"It's real." I say quietly. I don't know why. Irrationality taking over from being reminded of that day.

"Putting that aside." Balgruuf cuts in. "Irileth raises a worthy point. I don't see many vulnerable spots on its body."

There's a difficult pause. "Maybe... Underneath?" I suggest weakly.

A round of laughter erupts from everyone at the table but me. Even Farengar let's out an unsettling "A-a_ha_-aaaa...".

On my left, still laughing, Caius puts a hand on my shoulder. "If you wish to be the first person in thousands of years to be _sat on_ by a dragon, feel free to try that." I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment. Yeah. Making great progress in getting people to stop calling me 'boy', by the way. Moments like this? They really help.

"What do you all know of the chaurus?" asks Skjor as the laughter dies down. Blank looks from everyone. "No one? Truly? Giant insects? Falmer keep them as pets?"

"Ah, that would explain it." Farengar adopts an understanding look. "The falmer may be dangers to other holds. That is because they dwell in dwemer ruins. Whiterun hold has none." He leans back in his chair. "I admit my only knowledge of the chaurus is their eggs make mildly useful alchemical reagents. It did not seem relevant to the conversation."

"I only know enough that I never want to fight one." I add. "By the way, Farengar, thank you for not having me go fight falmer instead of draugr. Sometimes you don't know how good you have it until you realise how bad it could have been."

"You're welcome." he responds without a hint of irony.

Skjor gives us both a queer look before shaking his head and getting to his point. "The chaurus are a type of giant insect. Poisonous, ravenous and incredibly dangerous. But most important for this meeting; they are covered in a series of armoured, chitinous plates. Breaking through that armour is a difficult proposition no matter your strength. The key to wounding them, to killing them, is to finding the gaps between these plates and capitalising on that weak point. Like striking a seam in a set of armour."

Hrongar is sceptical. "You believe beasts out of legend would have the same weakness as insects?"

"They must." Skjor glances at me. "It's physics."

I try to hold back the odd look I'm sure is covering my face right now. I think he literally heard that word for the first time today and is trying to guess meaning through context. Still... "He's not wrong. In fact, the armour metaphor is spot on. I'm sure you all know, being warrior types, that armour has seams and gaps to allow as much freedom of movement as possible without sacrificing protection. The less gaps, the more restricted your movements are. From what I saw of A-... _The dragon's_ movements at Helgen were sinuous. They move – and strike – like serpents. Like snakes. There is no possible way they could move like that without there being a multitude of gaps and weak points in those scales."

There's a hum in the air. An energy. Everyone is coming to the conclusion that we have the beginnings of a plan. Reticent smiles start spreading on several faces. Including mine.

"Alright!" Balgruuf declares. "We're finally getting somewhere! Now, let's talk weapons. What shape can make the most of this knowledge?"

-(-)-

"Okay okay! One more time Farengar! Show me what you got!" I say as I bounce from foot to foot.

"We have been at this for hours, Casey. We should take a break."

I whip my head from side to side. "Nope. This needs to work. This is my best chance at doing something worthwhile in a dragon attack."

"You _will_ be doing something worthwhile. Your very presence-"

"_That's not enough_!" I snap at him. I'm running too hot. Having fire thrown at you for three hours straight will do that. Taking a deep breath I try again. "Sorry. I... The amount of problems that would come up if I just happen to be there... If I'm the dragonborn, I need to be The Dragonborn. At this point, only the Greybeards know more than we do about dragons and that helps but this is still Skyrim, the place where you can take political office by murdering the previous holder. If I want people to listen to me, I need to be part of the fight. I need to prove my words are backed by steel... figuratively speaking."

He seems to be staring at me, his hooded robes shadowing his face leave me unable to see his expression. Then, without warning, another wave of fire flows towards me!

-(-)-

I don't know why. Maybe it was coincidence but every time I played the game and did the opening questline (to be clear, more than ten times), every time I triggered the dragon attack during the day.

I was asleep when Irileth barged into the small side chamber that was my room. Not being a heavy sleeper and jittery with paranoia about this very moment, I awake as soon as she slams my door open. "A dragon has come."

I'm already moving to dress before she finishes her sentence. "Where?"

"The western watchtower. You are to head to Jorrvaskr and inform Skjor. Raise as many as you can to join the fight." She turns to leave.

"Wait!" Annnd she's gone. Shit shit shit where is it where is it... There!

Still shirtless but at least in my robes, I take a small vial and run after her through the wizard's lab and into the main hall. "Irileth!" She turns and looks at me impatiently. I hold up the vial. "Here.", I offer it to her and she takes it in her hand. "I wasn't expecting this to happen at night. This is the only potion of night vision we have. Either you're the best person to have it or you know who to give it to."

As soon as she took it and I said my peace I was running for the exit.

-(-)-

It wasn't late enough that Jorrvaskr was asleep. On going in and telling Skjor about the attack he gathered who he could. Farkas and Aela were on jobs, Vilkas was drunk and Athis lost his nerve at the idea of a real dragon. That left us with Njada, Ria and Torvar. In other words, the forces Skjor could bring to bear were three new recruits, four if you include me.

How auspicious.

And of course the situation only got worse from there. Irileth of course brought a squad of guards down to the tower. Of course, the only way we knew where the tower was was the burning rubble out front.

The attack happened at night. And not just any night. A _dark_ night. They are actually somewhat rare here due to the... _baffling_ cosmology of this place. But tonight is such a night. And a dragon just so happened to attack on one. Where it could attack with as little warning as possible.

I have a sneaking suspicion this isn't a coincidence. From what I remember, the dragon that attacks here is one of the ones that _survived_ the extinction. When all of the other dragons were dying, when Alduin was banished through time, this sneaky bastard was smart enough to run and hide.

And now it's attacking in such a way to maximise its advantages. Let's undo some of that.

Irileth gives the order to move in and check for survivors. Two of the guardsmen move forward, Irileth behind them, the rest of us behind her before we start to spread out. As I move I start marking the tallest points of the trees my spells can reach with magelights. One of the guards spooks and gets Irileth's attention. She doesn't say anything about it so I keep doing it, starting to mark the ground, flooding as much of it as I can with light.

They'll start flickering out in ten minutes. Hopefully that's enough time.

As Irileth reaches the base of the tower, another guardsman appears from the entrance warning us away.

"We need to kill this thing here. We stop it here or it reaches the city. How many are you?"

The guard shakes his head. "Me and two wounded. Thorbir it... It just swooped down and plucked him from his post on the tower!"

The housecarl pushes him aside to get a look before turning back to me placing more floodlights. "Wizard!"

I march up. She knows my name, dammit! At least it's not 'boy" anymore. "Yes, _Irileth_?"

"See what you can do for them. Do what you have to to get them up and fighting."

I shoulder past the guard and start scanning their wounds. "I'll need to light up the tower. It's too good a position for archers. We can't pass it up. I can at least make it so they won't be caught flat-footed."

She nods. "I'll send one of mine up with you to cover you."

"Thank you." I reply as I get to healing the most grievous injuries. One of these men I don't think I can get on his feet. But I can at least get him stable.

"... Good work with the lights." I hear Irileth's words but as I turn to look she's already gone.

I can't help but grin. Heh. Finally got her to praise me for something.

… I might die tonight, huh?

…

-(-)-

A/N: The absolute last of the setup. The players are set. The location is set. The preparation is set. All that's left is a knock-down drag-out fight with a fuckmothering DRAGON.

NBD, right?

Fandom Flux is a thing. Youtube. Go.

I feel like my self-plugging is getting lazier. Oh well.

Thanks for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

"I can't! I can't face it again! I saw what happened to Thorbir! Just snapped him up and smashed him through that machine! I don't care, I'll die a coward! Even Sovngarde isn't worth that!"

"Tell me, guardsman. Do you have family?"

"Wh... Yes, I... A sister. In Darkwater far to the east of here. Praise Talos for the mercy that she is far away from this madness!"

"Oh?" I feign inquisitiveness. "You think she's safe there?"

"... I..."

"This thing can swoop out of the darkness, kill a man and sabotage our defences and be gone just as fast. It could go west and raze Rorikstead then circle back around and reach your Darkwater Crossing in the same day. It could burn all of Skyrim to ashes." I put my hands on his shoulders. "Unless. We stop it. Here and now."

His eyes glance down as my hands touch him, then looks back up at me. Shakily, but surely, he nods.

I nod in return. "Go find Irileth. She will tell you where she needs you." With that, I take away my hands and move to the stairs, the guardsman Irileth selected to be covering me following me up.

I don't like Illusion magic.

No, I should rephrase. I like _some_ Illusion magic. Specifically, those little lights I've been scattering around like a magical flower girl. Those handy dandy spells that make you harder to detect. Those are great.

The other ones, though? Like the one I just used on that guard to give him a little shot of aetherial courage? I... Don't dislike those either. And that's rather the problem. Given mastery of them, I might like them a little _too_ much.

I don't want to see the version of myself that has that kind of power over people. Mind control? I can't help but think I'd do reprehensible things.

The guard hadn't been sugar-coating what happened on top of the tower. A ballista had been constructed up here specifically as a defensive measure against the dragons. I was so glad Balgruuf listened to me on that. I understand it was a difficult task. They aren't particularly common in Skyrim, nor is the knowledge of their construction. But they managed.

And the one they managed to drum up is currently half-smashed and given a thin coating of Thorbir viscera.

Fucking dragon.

Still, I get to work peppering as much of the tower with light as I can. The wreckage, the edges, the walls below as far as I can manage.

Hello... Hmmm... _Those_ might be useful.

"Irileth! I'm done up here, send up your archers! I'll stay up here to provide support!"

"Understood! You heard the wizard! If you're good with a bow, get up high! Let's bring down a legend!"

-(-)-

The waiting is killing me.

… About to fight a dragon. Just realised how stupid that was to think. Never mind.

Still, what's-his-name is sure taking his time. Gave us all the time in the world to prepare and get everyone in position. Hell, I bet even the... lights... are...

And as that thought passes through my mind, I spot one of the dots of light in the trees go out.

And a shrieking roar echo out of the darkness.

Oh... You... "Fucking... CUNNNNNNNT!" I feel myself bellow into the night sky.

"Wizard! What's wrong?!" I hear shouted at me from below.

"The lights! That overgrown flying gecko waited for the lights to start going out!" I yell back, frantically trying to spread out fresh lights as much as I can.

Irileth wastes no time. "Tighten our perimeter! Don't get caught in the dark!" she shouts.

More and more lights go out. As a guardsman moves back towards the tower, a dark form leaves the shadows. A long, saurian, ridged head followed by a single reaching claw and the hint of a wing attached to it. The claw comes around and snatches at the guard, failing to take him but batting at him. I have to assume he's heavily wounded, not that I can see. Because the closest light to him goes out too.

An arrow sails into the black. No sound of impact.

The contrast between bright light and darkness. The advantage I gave us with light in a wide-open space has turned into a small beacon in the abyss. Outside of our claimed territory, there is _no _visibility. It's turned this around on us completely.

"**I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"**

There's a gurgling yelp in the darkness. A sudden rush of air. And then silence.

"Keep distance from the edge but stay spread out! Don't leave any blind spots!"

The three archers near me, Ria among them, are split evenly around the edge of the tower. Their eyes point outward. Looking for signs of the target. Anything that could tell them where the dragon will come from next.

It won't give one. I know its game now. The first target in the first attack was because it was the biggest threat. It's still the biggest threat but that thing needed to distract us from that fact.

I chose my position for a reason.

A rush of air, so perilously close to us I can feel the breeze. "UP! It's above us!"

"**YOL..."**

"Ohfuck-" I bite out as a scramble inwards and raise my hands in a practiced motion.

"**TOOR SHUL!"**

-(Flashback)-

"Why are you so determined to make this work? Surely a standard ward would work just as well." Farengar prods as another training session wraps up.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. "What do wards block?" I ask.

"Magic, of course." Farengar answers promptly.

"Do they?" I ask in turn. "Do they really? Or do they just block spells? And yes, we both know there's a difference."

"I... It's a difficult thing to test." Farengar admits. "Most every use of magic we have has a spell as its source. Though... The most obvious evidence that supports you would be enchanted weapons. They aren't blocked by wards."

"So one source of magic that isn't a spell can ignore wards. Who is to say another can't? Like a dragon shout."

"So... Instead of blocking the magic... Or the shout... You intend to block the _effect_ of the magic." the wizard reasons.

I spread my hands outward in front of me and demonstrate exactly what he's talking about. My first real, completely original spell. "Precisely."

-(End flashback)-

My hands raised in the air together, I violently splay them outwards pointed skyward! The flames rush towards us, illuminating the dragon's maw. A split second after the flames appear, a circular shield glowing blue appears a few feet above me, spreading over as much of the tower as I can manage. The flames pass through it, but only by inches. Sputtering out as they try to reach further.

Frost Ward. Bit confusing name but there's a logic to it. Fire is a chemical reaction. Heat plus fuel plus oxygen equals combustion. Any firefighter would tell you take away one of those factors and a fire will go out. So the idea of the Frost Ward is simple and uses the basic principle of frost spells: heat dispersion. Take the heat energy of the flame and move it in another direction. In this case, outward to the edge of the ward.

After what feels to me like minutes but in reality is probably seconds, the flames die and I let the shield and my arms fall. I crumple slightly in exhaustion before pulling a blue potion bottle from my belt and down it in one. In petty defiance, I chuck it at the dragon still hovering above us. "Fuck you!"

… It doesn't get anywhere near him, obviously. But the archers apparently take that as a cue to resume loosing arrows at it as it swoops to the left away from us. It lets out a reverberating, booming laugh. **"Pruzah! Krif krin!"**

The archers move to follow its path as it sinks around the side of the tower. I hear it shout more fire at someone below. I can't do anything about that. Focus on what I can do.

Guess now's a good a time as any to use these. Would be a waste not to.

Using telekinesis, I pick up one of the ballista bolts and ready to launch it. "Which way?!" I shout at the archers that have been tracking the dragon.

"Coming around our left!" Ria shouts back as she looses an arrow presumably as it passes.

Moving as quickly as I can while maintaining my focus, I take position where I expect the dragon to go. Sure enough, it does. Focusing on the melee fighters below us. I notice its wings are extended fully as it glides around and that arrows have torn a few small holes in them.

Let's make a _big_ one.

Raising the bolt, I let it loose with as much force as I can muster! This thing has been an absolute prick, but my new spell worked so now we just need to put this thing on the ground so we can _stab the shit out of it 'til it dies!_

The bolt moves faster than I can track it but the effects can't be missed. A long gash is torn through the dragon's left wing, breaking its glide and leaving it tumbling to the ground.

"IT'S DOWN! CHARGE! WRITE YOURSELVES INTO LEGEND!" Irileth bellows as the melee fighters swarm away from the base of the tower to chase the tumbling dragon.

… Oh, shit! I need to get down there, don't I? I grab another two bolts and carry them under each arm.

"Stay up here and keep your bows trained on it! It might decide to flee!" I order as I race down the uneven stone steps. As I make it outside the tower I see someone had a bad go of it and they're not in guardsman armour.

Can't think about that now.

"**Bahlaan hokoron!" **The dragon shouts as it tries to right itself under a fresh onslaught of Whiterun spears. **"Nuz ni krongrah!"** It manages to only halfway roll back onto its feet as more yari spears come in to jab at the smaller scales of its belly. **"Mirmulnir los unslaad!"**

Getting within a range from which I can't miss, "Make room!" I yell as I drop the bolts and pick one up again with telekinesis. One of the companions sees what's coming and ducks away as I loose the bolt, aimed right for its underbelly.

"**Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!"** It bellows before snarling in pain as my second bolt strikes home. **"YOL..."**

"GET BACK!" I yell, charging forward to block it again.

Turns out, it's unneeded.

Skjor, being a ballsy son of a bitch, decides instead of running from fire, he'll take a shot he couldn't until now. His own spear lashes out at the dragon's unprotected throat, bared in preparation for its shout.

That shout isn't coming anymore.

"**Joor... Hin-ngh... Daar fen..."**

There's... a sound. It's hard to describe beyond something like a thump. With the sound is a feeling deep inside me. An innate understanding. Victory for me.

And defeat for the dragon.

"**Dovahkiin? NO!"**

There's a swell of heat and light and "Gah!" fuck! Seriously?! _That_ hurts my eyes? The light from a burning, dissolving dragon hurts my eyes. Fuck this stupid bullsh-

-(#####)-

I am born. Father forms me from aetherius as he has others before me and as he will others after me. I am Mirmulnir. The great and loyal hunter. I am of the proud dov, those who rule above all.

As is only right.

The joor bow and worship as they should. Mighty Alduin, the firstborn of us. He stands above even we dov. He does not seek the supplication of the joor. Only the loyalty of his own kind. It is deserved; I give it gladly.

As is only right.

-(-)-

The priests. Our agents among the joor. One has turned his back on the dov. He defies nature! He dares end, dares _devour_ the undying souls of the dov! This defiance of nature is met with swift retribution!

As is only right!

-(-)-

The abomination! The aberration! The filthy joor defiler of the natural order! Its ideas spread. Its methods spread. The meaningless specks of time are twisted, believing they can stand against us! This infection of defiance is crushed utterly. I will root it out, I unmake it. This world remains ours.

As is only right.

-(-)-

Impossible. Impossible. Impossible! They could not have-! Alduin is gone! HOW?! He is fact! He is _reality_! How do they... No. He is eternal, but he is not _now_. He is not now, but he will be again. I see it will be so.

The joor rebellion. I allow it. I encourage our kind to wait. Remind them that our master returns. Let the joor have this world for their pitiful now. Let them pretend that they are the masters of it. _Our_ master returns and together we cleanse it of their filth.

As is only right...

-(-)-

… He returns!

… Alduin!

-(####)-

"I... Can't believe it! You're... Dragonborn!"

-(-)-

A/N: Hi, everybody! Miss me? I know, it's been so long! Days, in fact! Time flies, right?

People will ask so I'll save some time and translate the dragonspeak for you.

"**Pruzah! Krif krin!" "Good! Fight bravely!"**

"**Bahlaan hokoron!" "Worthy enemies!"**

"**Nuz ni krongrah!" "But no victory!"**

"**Mirmulnir los unslaad!" "Mirmulnir is eternal!"**

"**Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" "My master will devour your souls in Sovngarde!"**

"**Joor... Hin-ngh... Daar fen..." "Mortal... Your-ngh... This will..."**

"**Dovahkiin? NO!" "Dragonborn? NO!"**

Yeah. You may have got that last one. Still, best to be thorough.

So dreading writing this fight scene for ages but it all seemed to come together super quickly. Literally I decided to get my basic ideas down on page and a couple hours later had this. Go figure.

The hardest part was the dragon perspective bit at the end. I bet it's confusing to read. I figure dragons being immortal and (somehow?) intrinsically linked to time, they have a bit of a different perspective on tenses in their thought pattern. To them, past, present and future aren't really worth distinguishing unless dealing with a lesser creature. They have a very strict view of the natural order. Both the order of power and the order of events. If they aren't on top, they _will_ be on top. Ergo, they are still on top. The idea that they could be ended is (literally) anathema to them. It's a concept they just can't fathom.

Fandom Flux. Youtube. Still being lazy with the plugs.

Thanks for reading.


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